Coeur de Lion
by Captain Katie
Summary: Be honest, haven't you ever broken the rules in a game? Has it done any harm? Based Killing Game. JC together, love, war, tragedy, and hope. Final Chapter up.
1. Her Late Husband

Rules of the game (Disclaimer): Be honest, haven't you ever broken the   
rules in a game? Has it done any harm? But it certainly was fun, wasn't   
it? So I have a little fun breaking the rules of Paramount who invented   
the Killing Game and everything Trek. However, I do not intend any   
copyright infringement. I just do this to have fun and to share this with   
others (who in turn nurture my ego ... at least I hope so).  
I'm hoping you enjoy this.  
This part is rated PG (for smoking and drinking alcohol and gaping)  
  
  
Coeur de Lion  
By Katie  
  
Chapter 1  
Her Late Husband  
  
The only light in the *Coeur de Lion* was coming   
from the bar, where Mademoiselle deNeuf and Catherine were   
busy counting the taking of this evening. Some of their guests   
had spent a lot of money on beverages and had given Séverine   
a special tip, others had spent less money. But this wasn't of   
interest to Catherine as long as everybody enjoyed themselves   
and forgot about the war for a few hours. As long as there   
was enough money left over for the resistance, she didn't   
really care whether people were generous or tight-fisted. At   
first, she'd thought she'd never be able to let Germans into her   
night-club, let alone take their money. But Paul, her African   
bartender, had convinced her otherwise. He knew that the   
Germans paid well, even if they seemed not to cherish the   
wines and eau de vies. It was important that they brought   
them their money, and after a short while Catherine even   
enjoyed taking their money. If only they knew what she was   
taking their money for ... but this didn't mean she liked them   
having in her night-club. Most of those Nazis didn't have any   
behavior and manners and most of them didn't hesitate to   
show their contempt for the French ostentatiously. It didn't   
comfort her in any way that these were times of war. She had   
to act against her principles, but she was glad she had Paul's   
logic to rely on. His point of view was very objective, which   
was in fact sometimes as annoying as it was useful.  
"How much is it?" she asked and puffed on her   
cigarette.  
"Too little," Séverine answered. She looked in   
annoyance at the woman standing across the counter.   
"Catherine, I take it you wanted to stop smoking? Isn't there   
enough smoke in here, six evenings a week?"  
Catherine smiled wryly and put out the cigarette in the   
chrome ashtray next to her. "I know, I know," she sighed,   
releasing the smoke between her pursed lips. As usual the   
dark red lipstick looked as though she'd just put it on.   
Séverine, though familiar with this business, couldn't help   
wondering how Catherine managed to look fresh even after a   
long night. "This is my last one, I promise."  
"Same thing as yesterday and the day before," the   
blonde woman groaned. It was hopeless. Catherine was the   
most stubborn woman she'd ever known, but if it hadn't been   
for her stubbornness she'd never have managed to become the   
owner of a renowned night-club.  
Just then, somebody knocked vehemently at the door.   
Séverine turned and looked in the direction of the door. Who   
could that be at this time of night? Everybody knew that they   
were closed. Thanks to their relations to the Germans   
stationed in their town they were allowed to be opened longer   
than the closing time. Thanks to their relations to the Germans   
they also were pretty sure that none of them would ever   
suspect them of working actively against them in the   
underground, using their money to buy weapons and other   
strategic devices.   
Catherine opened a drawer and took out a small gun   
which she hid behind her back. Just then, the person outside   
knocked even harder against the windowpane in the door.   
"Oui, oui! J'arrive tout de suite! I'm coming!" Catherine   
shouted with her powerful voice at the impatient pain in the   
neck. Nevertheless did she go to the door at a normal pace.   
She disappeared behind the porch that was secluded from the   
lounge by a milky windowpane. Séverine took a step or two   
in the same direction, ready to help her friend.  
"Who's there?" she heard Catherine ask briskly.  
"It's me, Jean. Catherine, please open, I have a guest   
for you," Jean, their all-around-handy-man and chef explained.   
It had been his night off. Just like Catherine and Séverine, he   
lived in one of the small apartments upstairs the *Coeur de   
Lion*. Catherine turned the keys and let Jean and their guest   
enter. She eyed the stranger suspiciously when he entered her   
night-club behind Jean. He was tall, had a strong frame and   
his pitch-black hair was combed back and covered with glossy   
hair-cream. He wore fashionable civilian's clothes whose style   
she couldn't tell. It wasn't quite French. Who was this guy?   
Anyway, he looked good. His skin was tanned, she could see   
this when they approached the counter. His eyes were dark   
and sparkling and she could quite well imagine the dimples his   
delicately curved lips would elicit when he would smile.   
Catherine realized in shock that he was the spitting   
image of her late husband.  
"So," Séverine said, with one of her eyebrows raised.   
She crossed her arms in front of her breasts and eyed the   
stranger no less suspiciously than the other woman had done   
earlier. Catherine's reaction to the doppelgänger of Maurice   
was subtle, but obvious enough that Séverine had no doubt   
that their plan was going to work. Jean hadn't promised them   
too much for once.  
"This is Captain Frank Miller of the US Army," Jean   
introduced the stranger to the women.  
Catherine hid her surprise better than she'd thought   
herself being capable of. Nevertheless was she glad that Jean   
pushed a chair behind her so she could sit down. If she hadn't   
known deep within herself that Maurice had disappeared three   
years ago and hadn't received a letter from a seaman that had   
told her about the death by drowning of her husband, she   
would have thought that he had finally returned. But there   
were small differences, very subtle, but she'd known Maurice   
so well that she'd have discovered any doppelgänger of him.   
And this Captain Miller was one, she knew that.  
Jean handed her a glass of cognac, which she gladly   
accepted. "Well, that certainly is a surprise. I am sorry,   
Captain," she apologized. The resemblance was really   
amazing. "Please take a seat. And you two had better explain   
me what this is all about. How dare you!?"  
"Catherine, last week I had the chance to travel west   
to gather some information. I happened to meet the Captain   
and I found out that he wanted to reconnoiter. His   
resemblance to Maurice caught me as off guard as it did you,   
Catherine ma chère, and so I thought that maybe we could   
work together. I told Séverine and Paul about it and they   
thought it was a good idea. However, we couldn't tell you   
beforehand because we needed to see your reaction to the   
Captain. I'm so sorry for that, but it has proved that anybody   
would think Maurice is back after all," Jean explained. He'd   
taken one of Catherine's hands into his right one and padded   
it. He hated it to hurt her, but it was to her own and the   
town's good. This made him sure she would approve of this.   
"Oui," Catherine nodded, still amazed by the   
resemblance. She got up and went to Miller, who had taken a   
seat across the table. She took his face in both her hands and   
looked him deeply in the eyes. They were the mirrors of his   
very soul, and she was sure that the woman he loved could be   
sure about what she saw when falling into them. Right now   
there was something in his eyes she wasn't quite sure of.   
There was so much love in his eyes ... He looked very much   
like Maurice, despite for the foreign looking tattoo he wore   
on his left temple. The blue lines on his tanned skin were   
mysterious, very attractive. She wondered what they meant.   
"You look like my late husband, Monsieur. I'm sorry, but ..."   
her voice broke and she turned away from him.  
Miller looked rather embarrassed and shot Jean a   
glance that sought his help. He hadn't anticipated such a   
strong reaction, and, frankly, he'd thought that his French   
friends had informed her about this entire business.  
"Alors, I think it'd be best if we called it a night. It's   
been a long day, n'est-ce pas?" Even Jean was getting   
somewhat uneasy now. He hadn't expected a reaction that   
strong by Catherine either. Frank Miller was the spitting   
image of Maurice, if it hadn't been for that he'd never ever   
talked to him in the first place. Frankly, it had taken him aback   
no less than it had Catherine.  
  
Frank Miller hadn't spoken a single word until then.   
He'd greeted the party in the nightclub with a curt nod, as was   
his habit with civilians. When he'd first met Jean le Chef he   
hadn't taken the small man seriously. His hairstyle was the   
most unusual one he'd ever seen. Of course had he seen this   
hairstyle before, but that had been with some Indians back in   
the US. Frank knew that some of the French were rather   
eccentric, but he hadn't thought it was that extreme. To top   
everything about his appearance, Jean's skin was freckled with   
huge marks.  
At first Frank had thought that Jean had come to him   
to rebuke him for his staring at him, but soon had found out   
the truth about it. As it were, Frank happened to be the   
lookalike of a deceased Frenchman. His widow was the owner   
of the nightclub Jean worked at and the head of the local   
resistance.  
"What makes you so sure I wouldn't shop you?" Frank   
asked the small man then.  
"It's your eyes, mon capitan, and you're American. The   
Nazis' enemies are our friends," Jean simply replied. Frank   
smiled then. This Frenchman surely was a clever guy and the   
chance he was offering him to reconnoiter the local German   
headquarters was enticing.  
"Okay, buddy. I'll think this over and talk to my   
superiors, okay?" Frank slapped the startled man on the   
shoulder.  
The fact that he was the doppelganger of a deceased   
man had only mattered to him because of the opportunities   
coming along with it. Of course had he thought about the   
widow, but he hadn't wasted any thought on her that wasn't   
necessary. But this had changed as soon as he'd gotten to see   
her. Instead of the old fat woman he'd expected to be the   
dragon of the Cœur de Lion, he'd found a startling beauty of a   
woman. She was about his age, in fact, and he'd never seen   
that auburn hair nor that blue eyes. He didn't like her white   
tuxedo that gave a comic touch to her otherwise very   
attracting appearance. Madame Catherine was a very strong   
lady, and wise for she knew very well how to hide her own   
emotions for the good of her people. Having realized that,   
Frank suddenly had no more prejudices against a woman   
being the head of the resistance. In fact, who would suspect a   
woman to be in this role, let alone if she fed the enemy in her   
nightclub?  
Frank was not quite sure whether he was glad that he   
was going to share the apartment with Catherine or not. The   
situation wasn't only awkward to her. She had to share her   
privacy with a man whom she knew and yet didn't know. The   
American officer in turn didn't know her at all, but instead he   
could be sure that his presence was hurting her. Of course was   
it not his fault, but he felt awkward and guilty nevertheless.  
Now there were standing in her tiny living-room, not   
quite knowing what to do.  
"Madam, I don't know how to say this," Frank began.  
"Then don't say anything," Catherine snapped. A   
reaction for which she was almost immediately sorry. She   
added more kindly: "Alors, it would be best if I showed you   
around. Then you can refresh yourself while I'm preparing the   
sofa for you to sleep on."  
"D'accord," he smiled. *Mon dieu, those dimples are   
going to ...* Catherine didn't dare go on thinking. Miller was   
so very different from Maurice. His voice, which was gentle   
and soft, not as hoarse from smoking too much as Maurice's   
had been; his very behavior towards her. Not that he'd done   
so much up to now. Although he was the spitting image of   
Maurice in appearance, he was an entire different character.   
Catherine caught herself thinking God for his appearance.  
Half an hour later, when everything was settled, they   
exchanged their good-nights. "Bonne nuit, good night and   
sleep well," Catherine said before she turned into her   
bedroom.  
"Bonne nuit," Frank attempted to say, but actually his   
French *night* sounded more like *suit*. "And thanks, for   
everything. I know what this is meaning to you, Catherine,   
and I appreciate it more than you may think."  
Her eyes seemed full for a second or so, but the   
French woman managed to hide it by setting her jaw and   
raising it for a centimeter or two. "Yes, thank you." Then she   
turned and closed the dark door behind her.  
Frank kept staring at the door for a while after she'd   
closed it. Somehow it seemed as if she'd erected a symbolic   
wall of protection between them. But after all it was just a   
door, and doors could be opened, especially in case they   
weren't locked. Catherine hadn't turned the key in its lock.  
This business was hurting her more than he'd thought   
and he was sure that it hurt her more than she was ready to   
admit. The loss of a beloved was terrible and he was very well   
aware of the fact that he'd ripped open old wounds by his   
appearance. He wished he'd never agreed to this plan. Just like   
Catherine, however, he was doing this for the good of the   
community. He had had no choice.  
  
Catherine leaned against the door after having closed it   
behind her. She bent her head and squeezed her eyes shut.   
*How dare they?* she screamed silently. She pressed her hand   
on her mouth to suppress the sobs welling up in her chest. She   
held her breath and gritted her teeth until the pain got the   
better of her. The sobs escaped from between her lips, softly   
at first, but with the growing pain in both her chest and soul   
they grew louder. She let herself slide slowly down to the   
ground until she was able to curl up in a tight ball and let   
herself go.  
How dared they do this to her? They knew very well   
that she was still suffering from Maurice's death. Even more   
so that she wasn't sure whether he'd had to die alone. Her   
greatest fear was not that she was going to die under great   
physical pain rather than she was going to die alone. She   
simply couldn't bear this thought. Besides, she'd never seen   
Maurice's corpse, she had no proof for his death other than his   
golden necklace. Why on Earth did Jean have to come across   
that American? Why? Hadn't he thought about the effects this   
was going to have on her for a single second? Just for once   
she wanted to be just like herself. Just for once she wanted the   
one to receive, not the one to give. And what were they   
doing? Taking from her despite their better knowledge even   
when they knew that she was down.  
She clenched her hands into tight fists to suppress the   
cry of frustration that was about to break away from her.   
However, she remained lying curled up where she was until   
she was sure that the tears had finally ceased to flow.  
The bed remained unused that night for Catherine was   
too exhausted from the flood of emotions that had   
overwhelmed her. She fell asleep on the cold floor, sleeping a   
deep but dreamless sleep.  
  
Frank, who'd eventually laid down in his makeshift   
bed, that was more comfortable than it had seemed at first   
glance, opened his eyes with a start when he heard the strange   
sounds coming from behind the door. He sat up in bed with a   
start and after having listened to the sounds for a while, he   
knew that Catherine was crying. The urge to go and look after   
her almost got the better of him, but he decided to stay in bed.   
Although listening to her crying gut-wrenchingly, he knew   
that the only reaction of hers would have been a rebuke. A   
woman like her wouldn't accept help easily. She needed to be   
certain that she could trust others absolutely before she was   
ready to open herself to them. It was strange, but it occurred   
to him that he'd been knowing her much longer than merely   
one short hour. So he tried to shut out her sobs from his mind   
and turned his back on the door to go to sleep. 


	2. Choosing Family

Chapter 2  
Choosing Family  
  
The next time Frank Miller was going through the   
streets of the small French town, it was late in the morning.   
The streets were crowded and the German occupation   
couldn't drive the merchants and peasants away who had put   
up their stands to sell their goods and produce. The place in   
which the Coeur de Lion was situated was crowded with   
people and as usual on days like this, Catherine had put up   
some chairs and tables under an awning in front of her night-  
club. It was mainly at her place where the wine-growers met   
to discuss and quarrel about their vintages and wines and sale   
one or two dozens of bottles of their golden or ruby treasures.  
Séverine and Brigitte were sitting at one of the small   
tables. The singer of the nightclub was enjoying her breakfast,   
whereas Brigitte was enjoying a snack. She'd spread her   
napkin on her stomach swollen with a Nazi's child. The young   
woman had taken advantage of one of the high-ranking Nazi   
soldiers stationed in her town. He'd shown interest in her and   
after talking to Catherine she'd decided to start an affair with   
the German. Although she'd managed to get to know one or   
two things about the Nazis that were of great importance to   
the resistance, it meant a big sacrifice for her. That cretin of a   
Nazi had managed to make her pregnant. At first, people had   
shown her their contempt, but by and by more and more   
people got to know the truth and their insults were only   
played.  
"How is the little one doing?" Séverine asked, putting   
her huge cup down on the saucer.  
"Don't ask. I wish it were over," Brigitte growled.   
"Tell me, does *he* really look that much like Maurice?"  
Séverine dipped her croissant into the tepid coffee and   
took a bite before she replied to the question. "Hm, oui, but   
see for yourself. There he's coming!" With her finger she   
pointed in the direction from which Miller came limping. It   
was part of their plan that *Maurice* arrived at home in   
bright daylight, on market-day, when as much people as   
possible could see him. They'd decided that he limp, that   
would make the story of his near-death more believable.  
Brigitte almost dropped her croissant. They had been   
right. That American really looked like Maurice. "Ce n'est   
...pas possible ...," Brigitte was lost for words. This was   
incredible.  
Séverine was the perfect actor then, she raised with a   
start, knocking the cup over so that it fell onto the cobble-  
stone ground and shattered to pieces. She let out a shriek and   
disappeared into the house. Brigitte got up as slowly as   
possible. She was really shell-shocked, she didn't have to play.   
By now, the people nearby had turned and gazed in awe at the   
limping man. Maurice was back!  
An old woman let her basket fall to the ground and ran   
towards the lost son as fast as she could, spreading her arms   
wide to gather the big man into her fragile embrace. "Maurice,   
mon fils, my son, you're back!" she cried at a high-pitched   
voice. Just as he'd been told, Frank returned the embrace and   
played the game.  
Just then, Séverine returned from the house pulling   
Catherine after her. When Catherine realized what was going   
on, she let go of Séverine's hand and weakly whispered her   
late husband's name. Once again, tears were filling her eyes,   
but no one ever realized that they were real. Except for one   
person.  
Frank let go of his *mother* to take a few steps   
towards the trembling woman. He alone knew that her   
reaction was genuine. "Catherine," he said, managing to   
disguise his voice in way it sounded like Maurice's. Those   
knowing about his true identity were surprised at how French   
his French actually sounded, but then they didn't know that   
Frank Miller's mother was a Frenchwoman.  
The big man gathered all his courage to embrace the   
woman and pull her into a tight yet gentle hug. She was   
wearing a summer-dress but despite the heat she was   
trembling. As he was supposed to he buried his face in the   
crook of her neck, deeply inhaling the lavender-scent of her   
perfume. Gods, it felt so good to hold her in her arms,   
especially after what he'd witnessed the previous night. He   
was very well aware that she wouldn't realize his consolation   
for what it was: a consolation for the pain he'd caused her last   
night and was still causing her.  
To his big surprise Catherine returned his embrace   
with equal force, melding her body into his. "Don't you ever   
leave me ever again! Don't you ever leave me again," she   
whispered in his ear.  
"I won't ever leave you again," he promised. "Ma   
chérie."  
The hug broken up, they both felt awkward, but Frank   
saved the situation by saying hello to the others approaching   
him. Then the whole party retreated to the privacy of the   
closed nightclub. "It really is amazing. You look exactly like   
Maurice," Brigitte told him again. He believed her, for   
Catherine had showed him a photograph of her husband that   
had been taken shortly before he'd disappeared.  
"Oh, that worked very well!" Jean triumphed. He'd   
observed the scene from behind a curtain. He'd insisted on   
standing inside for fear he'd spoil everything with his   
triumphant grin.  
"Oui," Catherine nodded absent-mindedly and   
collapsed onto a chair. She opened the box of cigarettes lying   
on the table, took one out and was about to light it with a   
match, when Frank pulled the cigarette from between her lips.   
She looked at him in annoyance.   
"You shouldn't smoke, Catherine," he merely said.  
"Bravo, she won't listen to me whenever I tell her to   
stop smoking," Séverine said, but despite her good intention,   
she didn't manage to ease the tension in the room.  
"I know very well what's best for myself, merci bien!"   
Catherine snapped, tossed the box of cigarettes onto the table   
and left the room.  
"Oh la la!" Jean made. "Well, I guess she'll calm down   
soon. What about some lunch?"  
  
=/\=  
  
Catherine didn't know what had happened earlier. She   
was just in rage. What had they done to her, all of them? She   
was just a woman after all. Why did she always have to be   
strong and brave? Now she realized that she hadn't quite been   
like herself ever since she'd received that letter three years   
ago. She'd looked for a new task to indulge in, both to soothe   
her pain and to make her feel like a worthy person again, to   
get rid of her hatred and her anger. And to repress her own   
fears. The resistance had welcome her then with open arms.   
The work had demanded her strength and all of her   
compassion, it made her able to give her strong emotions   
about Maurice's death a new, positive direction.  
However, it hadn't helped her to come to peace with   
herself at all. Now that Maurice was somehow alive in Frank   
again, and so very real, she had to admit that she'd repressed   
her grief instead of overcoming it and taking her life into her   
own hands.  
Meanwhile, she'd reached the woods in the north of   
the town, and the cool shade of the ancient trees calmed her   
heated body. She'd been running all the way from her house   
until she'd come here, not caring where her feet were leading   
her. It was so very quiet here. The only sounds were coming   
from the soft summer-breeze rustling in the dark green leaves   
of the trees and the singing of the birds. It was as if the woods   
didn't care about her pain and so the peaceful silence was   
disturbed by her desperate cry of frustration. Then she sank to   
her knees, the soft grass and moss cushioning her gently.   
Catherine hid her face in her hands, but she couldn't cry. All of   
her tears had been shed the night before.  
It wasn't just like the Catherine of the Resistance to   
run away and cry, but it was very like the old Catherine who'd   
been married happily with Maurice to finally let her grief get   
the better of her.  
What had that American done to her? She'd felt so   
much at peace when he'd gathered her in that tight embrace in   
the market-place. For the first time in four years she'd felt   
protected again, and at peace. She was so tired of being the   
strong woman, so very tired. Just for once she wanted to   
forget about that damn war, that damn Germans, and just be   
like herself, just wanted to learn again what true love meant.  
  
=/\=  
  
Andreas Brückner was standing at the window of the   
Nazi Headquarters in Sainte Claire, peeping through the   
curtains at the scene that was displaying itself on the market   
place. The building that now hosted the headquarters had   
been the Hôtel de Ville in peaceful times. When the Germans   
had occupied the small town they'd driven the local   
administration away and had them scattered all over the town.   
Brückner, to whom only the Commandant was superior, had   
made himself comfortable in the mayor's office and had   
quickly exchanged the picture of Marianne for a blood red   
flag with the swastika on it. Other items that once had   
belonged to the mayor had disappeared and been replaced by   
Brückner's impressive collection of rare art objects.  
"Riebel!" he called after his personal attendant with a   
voice that was used to commanding others. Riebel, a young   
man in his mid-twenties, obeyed immediately and joined him   
at the window. "Who is that guy?"  
Of course Riebel didn't know, he couldn't know. The   
occupants hadn't been long enough in Sainte Claire to know   
everything. "I don't know, sir. I'll send for him," he said, ready   
to leave.  
"Nein!" Brückner barked and waved him back with a   
gesture of his hand. "No, Riebel. The guy is obviously well   
aquainted to Fräulein Brigitte. Send for her, instead."  
"Jawohl, yes, sir." Riebel clicked his heels and quickly   
left the pompous office.  
Brückner set his tough looking jaw and eyed the scene   
suspiciously. It seemed as though Madame Catherine had   
welcomed a dear visitor. Then his dark face brightened and an   
ugly grin spread over his face. He'd sure have to go and see   
his friend tonight.  
  
=/\=  
  
"What ... " Miller looked after Catherine after she'd   
literally fled the nightclub. He couldn't imagine what had upset   
her so much.  
"Don't worry about her," Séverine said coolly. "She'll   
calm down."  
"Oui, she's pretty uneasy because of this whole   
business. I think we should have told her," Jean chimed in.   
The small peculiar looking man had just emerged from the   
kitchen, carrying an enormous plate laden with cheese and   
fresh bread. He put it down on a big table in a corner of the   
room where all of them had enough pace to sit and have their   
lunch.  
"I think I should go and look after her," Frank decided   
and was about to get up when the little granny who'd   
welcomed him earlier entered the room. "Ah, tu es ici, mon   
fils!" she exclaimed in her high pitched voice. Frank sat down   
again. He couldn't but state the obvious.  
"Madame Leroux." Paul greeted her, only his voice   
betraying his feelings. In the short time that Frank had been   
knowing him, he'd discovered that Paul the pointy-eared had a   
respectable talent for hiding his emotions. But he'd also   
learned that he was a wise and very logic man. Frank hadn't   
yet decided whether he liked him or not, but it hadn't been   
concealed to him that he was a good friend of Catherine's.   
Paul's voice sounded somewhat surprised.  
The faces of the others could be read as easily as open   
books. Each of them was surprised, although Séverine was   
taking a leaf out of Paul's book and managed just to raise her   
left eyebrow and the peculiar looking jewelry that was   
attached to her brow. Frank realized that Maurice's mother   
obviously hadn't come very often to the nightclub in the past   
four years.  
"Maman," he rose again and went to the little old lady   
and put an arm around her fragile shoulders to lead her to his   
chair. "What has brought you here?" he asked.  
"You, mon cher. When I saw that your wife had run   
away again I thought I'd come and see you," she explained.   
The venom that was in her voice when she talked about   
Catherine made it clear that she and her daughter-in-law   
obviously weren't the best friends in the world.  
"She needs some time of her own, maman," Frank   
said. He didn't know what had been going on between the two   
women so he tried to be as unbiased as possible. Which, in   
fact, wasn't that difficult, for no one had cared to fill him in on   
the Leroux family history.  
"Pah, that egotistic little bitch! Flirting with your   
guests but never caring to give birth to your son, that kind of   
girl she is!" she spat. Then she discovered the bread and   
cheese and helped herself.  
*God, that's it all about!* Frank thought. "Maman,   
I've only just returned, so could we please discuss this later?"   
he managed to express his contempt for the situation.   
Obviously it worked, for Maman Leroux took it that the   
contempt he'd expressed had been directed at Catherine. The   
others in contrast weren't fooled that easily. They knew that in   
fact Frank had expressed his contempt for Maurice's mother.  
"Bien, bien, I'll have to leave now anyway," the old   
woman said and rose, still chewing on her bread and cheese.   
"A bientôt! See you soon!" Then she shuffled out of the room.  
"You handled that very well, Captain," Paul nodded. It   
was the equal to clapping him on the shoulder.   
"Thanks, but you could have warned me about that   
dragon beforehand," Frank hissed.  
"We're sorry about this, Francois," Brigitte said, using   
the French version of his name, "but she never came here after   
Maurice and Catherine had married. She didn't like her from   
the beginning, but when Catherine didn't get pregnant, she   
came to hate her. The whole thing isn't made any easier by   
Catherine's outgoing character."  
*Nor by her beauty,* Frank added silently.  
  
=/\=  
  
The doors to Sickbay hissed open, but the Doctor   
didn't even bother to turn around and see who was entering   
his realm. He was busy tending to the broken jaw of a crew-  
member with extremely fierce looking Klingon features. He'd   
had to sedate him before he'd been able to treat his injuries.   
The furrows on the hologram's brow had hardly ever been that   
deep before.  
"What's it now?" he barked.  
"Sorry, Doc," Kim softly said. His face was damp with   
sweat and dirty from the work in engineering and holodeck-  
programming and his hair disheveled. The young ensign   
couldn't remember when he'd last had a good night's sleep. He   
was so exhausted that only the adrenaline the Hirogens'   
harassment kept pumping through his system made him stay   
awake. What was keeping him sane, he didn't know.  
The Doctor spun around immediately. "How are you?   
Oh, I see," he said when he realized the Asian's looks. "I'll   
give you some vitamins and other nutriments."  
"Thank you," Harry softly sighed and collapsed into   
one of the chairs. "Doc, we have to find a way to end this.   
The power necessary for running the programs will sooner or   
later lead to an overload in the power circuits that can hardly   
be repaired. I'm especially concerned about the health of the   
gel-packs. I suspect the Hirogen to have brought a decease   
that might infect them."  
"I am particularly concerned about your health, Ensign   
Kim," Doc murmured in concern. He administered a   
hypospray to Harry's neck and shot a load of vitamins into his   
system. "You should sleep at least ... "  
"I can't!" Harry shouted. Then, regaining his   
composure, he repeated that this wasn't an option at the   
moment. "Our people need us. Otherwise they'll get killed by   
those sadistic games of the Hirogen. The security protocols   
are disabled on all holodecks. You've told me yourself that   
many of the crew had almost died in historic battle scenes and   
stuff like that."  
"You are right, Ensign. But you have to take care of   
yourself as well," the hologram reminded him. "Have you   
already found a way to disable the neural implants?"  
Harry snorted. On the one hand, the Doc was   
concerned about his health, on the other hand he treated him   
as if he too were a hologram. "No," he replied in irritation.  
"Well, I guess I can't access the controls either.   
Perhaps we'll have to deactivate the devices ourselves," he   
stated.  
*Deactivate the implants ourselves, sure,* was the last   
straight thought he had before his leaden lids closed him off   
from the world around him and sent him into deep but   
uncomfortable sleep.  
  
=/\=  
  
They had just finished their lunch and were about to   
have a drink on Frank when Brückner's people stormed into   
the restaurant and demanded to speak with Fräulein Brigitte.   
She got up carefully, putting her hand protecting on her   
stomach and went two or three steps towards the Nazis.  
"Can I help you?" she asked politely.  
"Hauptmann Brückner wants to see you," the older of   
the two men informed her. It was really amazing how stock   
still the two soldiers were standing there, their eyes directed at   
a point no one in the room could see but them. Frank turned   
around carefully in his chair and eyed them casually. It was his   
first encounter with Germans and despite his being the boss he   
knew better than to talk to them. It was hard enough to make   
the French believe he was Maurice. From what he'd been told   
back in the States, the Germans were very suspicious. This   
made him smile inwardly. On the one hand they thought of   
themselves as being the master race, on the other hand they   
were pretty paranoid. So there couldn't be much behind their   
oh so splendid ideology.  
"May I ask why?" Brigitte urged. She didn't want to   
see Brückner at all. Ever since she'd told him she was   
pregnant he had been behaving strangely. What's more she   
wasn't in the mood to see him. They had plans to make after   
all.  
"He wants to see you," the one soldier who'd spoken   
earlier repeated.  
"Just a moment, please!" Frank suddenly chimed in.   
He got up carefully as well, playing his role as the big limping   
guy very well and pulled Brigitte away from them. The two   
soldiers looked somewhat taken aback, but neither of them   
did say anything. However, they kept watching them.  
When Frank had gotten up, Séverine was about to rise   
as well, but soon enough she noticed Paul's eyes telling her to   
remain seated. The tall pointy eared African had trusted the   
American from the beginning and that meant a lot. He wasn't   
the type to trust people easily, especially in these times. So if   
he trusted someone, the rest of the Resistance could rest   
assured that they could trust them as well.  
"Brigitte, try to memorize as much as you can inside   
the building, especially where the guards are posted and   
where they're keeping their radio, okay? But take care," he   
whispered to her. Then, as to make sure the Germans took   
their little conversation for a good-bye between friends, he   
kissed her on her cheek. Then he said for everyone audible:   
"See you later, ma chère."  
Brigitte nodded and then turned to follow the two   
soldiers. They walked on either side of her as if to make sure   
she wouldn't run away. Obviously they were taking their   
orders way too literal. *Well, well, I don't think that Brückner   
will be overly pleased about this when he finds out,* Brigitte   
thought, a wicked grin tugging at the corners of her mouth.  
  
=/\=  
  
After the Germans had left with Brigitte, the four of   
them resumed talking about their plans. Frank had gladly   
accepted the plan of the Resistance because the US Army   
needed intelligence on the situation in Sainte Claire. Since he   
hadn't quite trusted the abilities of the Resistance of the small   
town—despite Bobby Davies' better knowledge—he'd   
deemed it necessary to get it himself. Of course he hadn't   
thought of doing the reconnaissance himself at first, but now   
he was glad he'd accepted Jean's offer and had told the Allied   
Headquarters about it.  
And there was another reason for his change of   
opinion.  
Catherine.  
The woman was incredible. He'd underestimated her   
because he'd thought he knew woman. As it turned out,   
however, Catherine was none like the women he'd ever   
known. Beneath that rough exterior she was presenting to   
everyone was beating a hart of gold, he knew this. He'd   
witnessed her lonely tears the night before, after all. So he   
knew that she needed somebody to love her and make her feel   
protected. Her mother-in-law didn't seem to help her in any   
way in her grief, on the contrary. There was Paul, of course,   
who seemed very close to and trusted by Catherine, but Frank   
doubted that she talked about her affaires de coeur to him. On   
the other side she was able to turn her feelings into hatred   
against the enemy and the passionate protection of her   
hometown and so get the strength she needed for leading the   
Resistance. *Isn't she aware that she can't go on like this   
forever?* Frank wondered. *In a few days the war will be   
over. What will be left for her to do then? She'll break into   
pieces if she can't turn her raging emotions into strength.*  
"Captain?" Paul asked repeatedly. Only when Jean   
touched his forearm did Frank realize that he'd been lost in   
thought.  
"I'm sorry, what did you say?" Frank apologized. If   
he'd been a less self-confident man he'd have crimsoned.  
"We were talking about buying that high frequency   
oscillator to extend the range of our radio," Jean filled him in.  
Frank was immediately all business again. "You can   
save your money. Lieutenant Davies will provide us with one.   
I understand that this Monsieur Goulot is your contact?"  
Paul nodded. "Good. Davies is going to wait at his   
place for you tomorrow morning, Séverine. The oscillator will   
be well disguised," Frank informed them.  
"That is a wise way to proceed. Jean has been checked   
on by the Nazis several times this week, whereas Séverine is   
quite popular. None of the Germans will suspect her to work   
for the Resistance," Paul explained.  
"Very well," Frank said, leaning back in his chair.  
"I'm hoping Catherine will return soon. The weather   
report is due on the radio in half an hour," Séverine said after   
she'd brought some more wine. She poured each of them   
another glass and sat down again.  
"Oui. Naomi will be here soon as well," Jean nodded.   
  
=/\=  
  
When they reached the former Hôtel de Ville,   
Brigitte's senses were highly alert. She'd never been to the   
Nazi Headquarters of this area before, only few had actually   
been there. So she memorized where the guards were posted   
and other strategic information which she thought to be   
useful, just like Frank had told her to do. But she'd already   
made up her mind on possible places to put the radio, for she   
knew the former Hôtel de Ville. She'd worked there as a clerk   
before the German occupation.  
"Herein!" She could hear Brückner shout after one of   
her guards had knocked on the door to his office. Having   
entered, Brigitte immediately recognized the scar-faced   
Commandant. Paul had told them he'd served under Rommel   
in North Africa and Schmidt in Poland and was one of the   
most cruel Nazis in the whole area.  
"Ah, there's your guest," he commented on her arrival.   
He appeared to be the perfect gentleman, and although he   
seemed polite when visiting the *Coeur de Lion*, Brigitte   
knew better than to regard him as what he appeared to be.   
"Well, I think I'll leave the two of you alone."  
Brückner nodded and performed the Hitler salute.   
After the Commandant had left, he sent the two guards away   
as well.  
"Guten Tag, meine Liebe. Wie geht es Dir?" Brückner   
gathered Brigitte in an embrace. Obviously he had taken her   
tête à tête with him seriously and had fallen in love with her.  
"I'm fine, thank you. My, this is a nice place. Why   
haven't you shown it to me earlier?" she asked, looking   
curiously around the room. She'd been several times to the   
former mayor's office, but then it had looked completely   
different. Now the room was cramped with art objects from   
all over Europe. Trophies he'd brought from other places he'd   
been to during the war. Brückner had told her that gathering   
art objects during a war meant more to him than occupying   
other countries. When she'd asked him if this wasn't   
interfering with the Nazi ideology he'd changed topics. *Pig,*   
was the only silent comment on this she'd made.  
"You have beautiful things here," she whispered when   
she discovered the radio standing on a table in the far corner   
of the room. Now she had what she'd wanted. This was going   
very well indeed. Then she turned to look in Brückner's face.   
He was beaming with pride as if he were a schoolboy. *What   
a fool you are,* Brigitte thought.  
"I'm glad you like it. But I haven't had you come here   
to tell me this." The smile on his face disappeared and he   
looked all business. Brigitte squared her shoulders   
subconsciously and prepared herself for what was to come   
next. Her senses were even more alert than before.  
"Ah?" she only made.  
"You welcomed a guest earlier," he stated bluntly.  
*So this is what you're getting at, pig.* "Yes, we have.   
Oh I see, the view you're having from this room is very   
beautiful," she said casually and stepped at the window. From   
up here one could command a look over the whole market   
place that was now busy with traders and buyers, just as usual   
on Thursdays.  
"Ja, nicht wahr? So who is that man? I've never seen   
him here before."  
"He's Madame Catherine's husband. Four years ago he   
left her to go to America, but he never returned. About one   
year after he'd left Catherine received a letter which told her   
Maurice—that's his name—was dead," she told him. For once   
she was glad she didn't have to lie at him.  
"Obviously the sender of this letter was wrong,"   
Brückner commented.  
"Oui. Catherine has never been the same after she'd   
received this letter," Brigitte sighed.  
"Well, you're certainly right. She loves him very much,   
does she?"  
Brigitte didn't answer right away. She wasn't sure. The   
news of his death had broken Catherine despite all the   
quarrels she and Maurice had been having ever since they'd   
known each other. They were so very different from each   
other that only few people had thought they would actually be   
able to live together as a married couple. Their lives went up   
and down at a face pace. The worst of it was that Catherine   
didn't get pregnant despite their desire of having a child. This   
brought her the wrath of her mother-in-law who'd never liked   
her, and made the gap between her and Maurice only bigger.   
So they'd deemed it a wise step if Maurice left for a while to   
travel and visit some relatives living in the US so both of them   
could make up their minds. However, Catherine never told   
anyone about her feelings. Only after she'd received the letter   
did they know that she was still loving him, maybe even more   
that she'd made up her mind about their shared love.   
"Yes, she does."  
  
To be continued ... 


	3. Bonds That Tie to Reality

Disclaimer: see Part 1  
  
  
=/\=  
Coeur de Lion  
by Katie  
  
Chapter 3  
Bonds That Tie to Reality  
  
Naomi was the sweetest thing of a girl Frank had ever   
met. He'd always thought of his nieces being angels, but this   
little French girl made him think otherwise. Although she had   
strange-looking horns on her forehead she was the most   
beautiful child he'd ever seen. Her curly hair was of the color   
of ripe wheat that made her dark eyes sparkle even more   
intensively. She was carrying a doll with her that looked   
somewhat worn down. Naomi obviously played a lot with it.   
The girl hesitated when she noticed him. Frank wasn't   
quite sure how to react. So they kept standing in the middle of   
the room, eyeing each other and obviously not knowing what   
to make of each other.  
"Qui est-ce?" she eventually asked.  
"This is Catherine's husband," Jean answered. "Say   
bon jour to him, he is a friend."  
Naomi curtsied well-behaved. "Bon jour, Monsieur."  
Frank finally closed the remaining distance between   
them and squatted in front of her. He was a tall man and his   
sister had told him as soon as his nieces could walk to squat   
down when talking to them. "Bon jour. Just call me Maurice,   
bien?"  
"D'accord," she nodded.  
"Now, Naomi," Jean said, "I think you've got   
something for me to trade for two croissants au chocolat,   
n'est-ce pas?"  
The girls face brightened and she nodded vigorously.   
Then she pulled up the colorful dress of her doll. Beneath it   
there was a small piece of paper tied with a blue ribbon   
around the belly of her rag doll. She carefully pulled the piece   
of paper away and handed it to Jean.  
"Very well!" he smiled. Then he handed the note to   
Frank. "So, now let's got to the kitchen and see what I've got   
for you, okay?" Again, Naomi nodded enthusiastically and   
followed the chef into his realm.  
"She's a cute little thing," Frank commented, joining   
Séverine and Paul at the table.  
"Indeed she is, and very clever too," Paul added. Frank   
handed him the piece of paper he'd received from the girl. He   
unfolded it and found a row of lower case letters written   
down on it. The writer had written very carefully. "This is the   
key to the code which is due today," Paul explained to the   
American.  
The American though couldn't make anything out of it.   
He knew that as few persons as possible were to know about   
the codes, in case something unexpected happen. Only   
Brigitte and Catherine knew how to do the decoding, and   
neither of them was there. Brigitte hadn't returned from the   
Nazi headquarters yet and Catherine had run off to who-  
knows-where. Séverine looked at the clock that was standing   
on the mantelpiece. It was almost half past one now and the   
weather forecast on the radio was due in a few minutes.  
"I guess today I'll have to write down the forecast,"   
Séverine remarked. She got up and went to the bar, armed   
herself with a notepad and a pencil. Just when she turned on   
the radio, the speaker announced the weather forecast. "I am   
Reginald Smith of the British Radio Network and this is the   
weather forecast for the British Isles on Thursday, September   
19th 1944 ... "  
Séverine wrote down the forecast as quickly as she   
could, checking it and adding what she'd left out when Mr   
Smith was as kind as to repeat the forecast forty-five seconds   
later. Frank joined her at the counter. "I hope this isn't too   
important," he said.  
"I hope Catherine will return any time soon. If Jean or   
Naomi bring the decoding sequence then there *is* an   
important message," Séverine told him. She folded the note   
with the weather forecast and switched to a French radio   
station. Soft music was playing now and Séverine took   
another sheet and concentrated on writing down the lyrics of   
the songs.  
  
=/\=  
  
Fortunately had the Doctor managed to convince the   
Hirogen that Ensign Kim was in desperate need of a good   
night's sleep, so they'd let him sleep in Sickbay. While Harry   
was sleeping—he was so tired that he even didn't need his   
sleeping mask—the Doctor figured out a way how they could   
get the other crew back. He'd found that he could reprogram   
the neural interfaces so that they could be connected to a   
subroutine of the holodecks' computers. Using the subroutine   
as a relay station for messages it would be possible to smuggle   
someone in who knew what was going on. Thanks to the   
manipulated neural interface the Doctor would also be able to   
establish a connection between the person's brain and a secret   
channel of the ship's intercom. The person would be fully   
aware of who he or she was and could try to deactivate the   
others' neural interfaces. A system quite similar to a Borg   
collective.  
So far so good, but their were still two little problems.   
First, he needed a patient to treat who was going to be sent to   
the World War II scenario in Holodeck One and secondly he   
had to find a way to deactivate the neural interfaces that didn't   
shop him to the Hirogen. Those bastards were monitoring   
each crew on the holodecks and as soon as one of them was   
injured or their neural interfaces were damaged in any way,   
there was an alarm going off. If they wanted to get rid of the   
Hirogen, they had to be smarter than them.  
A few hours later, Harry found the Doctor treating   
Ensign Vorick's injuries he'd suffered in the fight with a   
Saracen in the crusade scenario on Holodeck Two. It was a   
most horrible sight and Harry turned away quickly. He didn't   
know who was to pity more: the crusaders, the Klingons or   
the people on Holodeck One. Luckily, Harry found a pretext   
that allowed him to stay in Sickbay for the next two hours. So   
when the Doctor had treated Vorick as well as possible, he   
made sure that none of the Hirogen were within earshot.  
"Doctor, have you found a way to disable the neural   
interfaces yet?" he asked.  
"I'm halfway there, Ensign. I must find a way to   
disable the interfaces without the Hirogens' discovering it   
immediately," the Doctor explained. The past nine-teen days   
had taken their toll on the hologram. Whereas he usually   
replied sarcastically, he'd lost his sense of humor soon after   
the first wounded *prey* had been brought to him so that he   
patch them up, only to welcome them back a few hours later.   
This had been going on and on and on. Never before had the   
expression *vicious circle* had a meaning that was closer to   
truth than now.  
"Hm, yes, that may be a problem," Harry nodded.   
"The Hirogen keep looking over my shoulder when I'm   
repairing something. We would have to distract them for at   
least half an hour so I would be able to write a subroutine."  
"That, in fact, *is* the problem," the Doctor nodded.   
The furrows on his brow had never been deeper than those   
days.  
"Listen," Harry suddenly said. "I'm sure I can find a   
pretext to go to Cargobay Two. Seven's got her console there   
and I'm sure they are not monitoring the former Borg cubicles   
..."  
Harry never got the chance to tell him the whole idea.   
The Doctor's face suddenly brightened and the hologram   
almost got excited. "Eureka, Ensign, that's it!"  
"What is what? I don't quite understand what you're   
getting at."  
"The Borg! We're going to use the Borg technology to   
infiltrate the Hirogen's system," the Doctor said emphatically.  
  
=/\=  
  
Brigitte returned a quarter of an hour late. The   
weather forecast had already been aired. However, she knew   
that she could rely on her friends. Without the reliability they   
were sharing the Resistance couldn't work. So she nodded at   
Séverine in appreciation of her having recorded the forecast.   
With the help of the decoding instructions Naomi had brought   
earlier, she was able to rewrite the message. Séverine, Paul   
and Frank gathered around her and she told them what it was   
saying.  
"It's from the Allied Forces Headquarters. We are to   
gather more intelligence about the Germans. Allegedly they   
know more about the Allied Forces strategies than they're   
supposed to. The British suspect them of preparing an ambush   
for the Americans," Brigitte read out loudly.  
"Great. How strong is your relationship with   
Brückner?" Frank wanted to know.  
"There have been better times," the woman with the   
strange ridges on her forehead answered.  
"If the Nazis were planning an ambush Goulot would   
be the first one to get wind of it," Paul told Frank. "So I think   
it would be best if we waited for tomorrow noon. Séverine is   
going to get that high frequency oscillator from him. She may   
as well ask him about what's going on around his charcoal   
burning."  
"That would be best indeed," Frank agreed. "I don't   
think that our people are going to free Sainte Claire before   
Monday night."  
"I take it that Catherine is still off?" Brigitte asked.  
"Yes. Do you have any idea where she could have   
gone?" Frank wanted to talk to her. He felt somewhat   
awkward about what had happened an hour earlier. He'd hate   
it if he'd hurt her after all what she'd done for him. And maybe   
she could need someone to talk to, someone who was   
unbiased of what had been going on between her and her late   
husband. Somehow he doubted that she'd talked to anyone   
about her feelings in the past three years.  
Brigitte, however, hesitated before telling him where   
she supposed her to be, where she was sure she would be. the   
young woman wasn't quite sure whether an interview with   
Frank was going to do Catherine any good, taken her reaction   
earlier. But then she thought that maybe it wasn't a that bad   
idea after all. "I'm sure she's gone to the lake in the forest. It's   
her most favorite place to go at times like this."  
  
=/\=  
  
Thanks to Brigitte's detailed description, Frank didn't   
have any problems in finding the lake. If she hadn't told him   
how to get there he wouldn't have found his way. The lake   
was very small and hidden in a tiny valley. He was glad that   
the lake was in a forest, so he could escape the oppressing   
heat of the Indian Summer for at least a short while. It was   
quiet in the woods, except for the occasional rustling of leaves   
and the singing of the birds and the humming and chirping of   
the insects.   
Frank followed the path that was hardly visible and   
could be found only if one knew the tall old pine tree that was   
standing next to it. But he found his way without any   
problems and followed the path down to the small lake. There   
was the tiny hut Brigitte had described him and the   
ramshackle landing stage right under the weeping willow. On   
the other side of the lake a brook was mounding, forming a   
mini-delta.   
Catherine, however, was nowhere to be seen. Frank   
went down to the hut, but when he didn't find her there, he   
leaned against the door frame and scrutinized the interior of   
the hut. There was an huge old monster of a sofa, an old   
dresser and a rickety table with a chair. On the table there was   
a bottle that had served as a candle stick for several times.   
Wax had dripped on the bottle and had encrusted it with many   
colorful layers. Next to it there was an half-empty bottle of   
heavy red wine and a simple glass. Catherine's shoes were   
laying next to the legs of the chair on the wooden floor.  
"Wha ... What are you doing here?" A powerful female   
voice demanded to know. Frank spun around and found   
Catherine standing in front of him. Her hair was disheveled   
and dripping wet. Obviously she'd dressed in a hurry, because   
she'd buttoned her dress up the wrong way: on the top there   
was a button too much, on the hem, however, there was a   
spare buttonhole. Catherine hadn't dried herself with a towel,   
for the dress was sticking to her wet body like a second skin.   
Frank realized that this was as good as seeing her naked. So   
he tried to keep his eyes fixed on her face.  
"I didn't mean to disturb you," he apologized.  
"Su ... sure." She was having the hiccups because of   
having drunk the wine without having eaten anything it   
advance. That woman was just gorgeous. Frank couldn't help   
smiling.   
"Well, we were kind of worrying about you. So I came   
out to look after you," Frank eventually said. It seemed   
almost impossible for him to keep his eyes on a level with   
hers. He caught himself letting his gaze wandering down her   
body. Her dress was sticking to her skin in almost all places,   
showing him her beautiful curves. Her nipples being still erect   
from the swim she'd taken pressed against the fabric of her   
dress. The sight of them almost drove him round the bend.  
"That's sweet," she smiled. She was very shaky, so   
Frank decided to offer her a seat.  
"Yes," she nodded vigorously, "let's sit down ... on the   
landing stage. You have to ... hang your feet into the water.   
It's divine!" She gripped his hand and pulled him behind her   
towards the ramshackle landing stage. Frank shook his head   
and followed her staggering steps. A nightclub owner who got   
drunk after only half a bottle of wine. Moreover, she lived in   
the middle of a wine-growing area. On second thought   
though, this wasn't funny at all. It was obvious that she'd   
gotten drunk because of her emotional distress. If only he   
could help her. He'd only known her half a day but she'd   
already gotten so very dear to him that he had to ask himself   
whether there was something to love at first sight after all ...  
  
=/\=  
  
"Miller is taking his own sweet time," Brigitte said   
after she'd looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. She   
crossed her arms in front of her chest and leaned against the   
counter. It was already past eight in the evening and neither   
he nor Catherine had shown up yet.  
"Don't you think that they're having a lot of things to   
talk over?" Paul replied sharply. The *Coeur the Lion* was   
closed on Thursday nights, so he was about to leave to meet   
some of his friends to have a glass of wine or two and to play   
a bit of bowls in the small park in front of the church.   
Séverine had left earlier to go to the pictures.  
"Talk!" she laughed bitterly. "You don't really believe   
they're *talking* down there, do you?" She remembered a   
time when she and her American boyfriend had gone down   
there to be undisturbed for a night or two several years ago.   
The memories cut her to the quick and she knew that she was   
being unfair. Her wonderful memories and her disappointment   
now didn't give her the right to envy Catherine that much.   
Even she was just a woman after all, so she too had the right   
to enjoy herself—especially when she hadn't had a boyfriend   
ever since Maurice had left for his voyage. However, it cut   
her to the quick.  
"Even if it were so—this is none of your business,   
Brigitte," Paul reminded her. "Bonne nuit, I'll see you in the   
morning. Make sure you lock the doors carefully. There's too   
much vermin in the streets these days."  
Brigitte nodded. She was going to turn in early   
tonight. She got tired easily recently and she knew that she'd   
soon give birth to a Nazi bastard, dammit. She'd always   
wanted children, but not from that cowardly, only slightly   
megalomaniac Nazi creep. Why on Earth hadn't she gone to   
live safely with Bobby in the States, in a nice little house with   
a white fence and five or six children playing in the garden?  
She could still slap herself for having broken off   
contact with him. He'd been the only love of her life and she'd   
been foolish enough to let him go. Brigitte made a decision.   
She wasn't going to turn in early tonight. Instead, she'd choke   
down her pride and write a letter to Bobby. Maybe it wasn't   
too late by now and Bobby ... no, what a foolish idea. No guy   
of his type would wait for a French girl like her. The time   
they'd spent together had been the most wonderful time in her   
life, but it had been just a romance for one summer; a romance   
like any other for a man like Bobby Davies.   
*Maybe I should give it a try nevertheless. He can't   
say more than no.*  
When Miller had told them about his Lieutenant called   
Davies earlier, it had cut her to the quick as well. But the   
likelihood that the Lieutenant and her former lover were   
identical wasn't very great, so she'd shoved off the thought as   
quickly as it had struck her. That would be too good to be   
true, it sounded too much like a fairy tale. This was war, after   
all, and she was sure that there were at least as much Davieses   
living in the States as there were Brückners living in Germany.   
Where had she put his last letter?  
  
=/\=  
  
"What is so important in Cargobay Two that needs   
your attention?" the Hirogen hunter asked him. Had he had   
lips, his upper lip would have curled in disgust. It wasn't just   
like the Hirogen to talk to puny prey. But it were the   
Commandant's orders that the technicians not be harmed in   
any way in order to keep the ship's systems—particularly the   
holo-technology—up and running. If it were his decision to   
make, Harry's guard would have hunted him down as soon as   
possible and decorated the bulkheads of his quarters with his   
bones.  
"There's a science station that isn't needed at the   
moment. If I shut it down there'll be more power available for   
the holodecks," Harry explained, pulling himself together.   
He'd given a year's worth of replicator rations if only he could   
hunt that obnoxious Hirogen down. The bunch of them was   
bad enough, but that guy seemed to be the worst of their   
gang.  
"Proceed," the Hirogen said, pressing the mouth of his   
rifle into his back. Harry raised his hands in a pacifying   
gesture and went to the next turbolift. His guard was   
following him of course. Fortunately did he have no idea   
about the technology of Voyager, nor did he know what a   
Borg cubicle was. This was going to make Harry's work at the   
Borg consoles easy. Thanks to his close working relationship   
to Seven he knew exactly what he had to do. The Doctor had   
given him a Padd with the instructions how to write a   
subroutine so they could reprogram the neural interfaces once   
they were assimilated by the Borg nanoprobes. Those little   
helpers had become invaluable to them after they had helped   
curing him from the assimilation of Species 8472. Since the   
nanoprobe technology was unknown to the Hirogen, they   
wouldn't be able to monitor them, even if they were   
assimilating the neural interfaces. Then all Voyager crew   
whose neo-cortexes were linked to the holodeck computer   
would regain their consciousness.  
The Doctor had already written a subroutine to   
*infect* all food and drink in the holodecks with the   
nanoprobes. At the same time they were going to beat the   
Hirogen at their own game with the help of the nanoprobes.   
But however persistent Harry had asked the Doctor about his   
plans, the hologram wouldn't give his secret away, at least not   
yet.  
  
=/\=  
  
Soon after they'd sat down on the landing stage,   
Catherine had grown tired and eventually had dozed off into a   
blissful sleep. Now Frank was cradling her head in his lap.   
She'd put her head there to rest as if it were the most natural   
thing to do. From Frank's point of view, it was most natural.   
By now he'd realized that he'd fallen in love with her—but he   
wasn't sure whether she had the same feelings about him.   
She'd drunk half a bottle of wine after all, and her trust in him   
could have been a result of her lightheadedness. He prayed   
that it wasn't the case.  
They hadn't talked much, it wouldn't have made much   
sense then. You can't talk about matters of the heart if you   
weren't like yourself at all. But soon they would talk, Frank   
was sure about that. It was late in the afternoon now and the   
sun was standing low above the treetops. Although it had   
begun to cool off, it was still hot and he was glad he'd hung   
his feet into the refreshingly cool water of the lake.   
Meanwhile, Catherine's dress had dried in the sun as well as   
her hair. He couldn't help caressing her auburn strands. When   
he had been a boy he'd always loved it when his mother had   
caressed his dark cropped hair. It had always soothed him and   
whatever had disturbed him had soon been forgotten.   
Catherine's hair was particularly beautiful. He couldn't tell   
what it was that made it special, he just loved it.   
After a while of caressing her this way, he grew more   
confident and brushed the backs of his fingers over her cheek.   
How soft her skin was, he couldn't believe it. He traced the   
shape of her face with his fingertips: the powerful jaw line, her   
chin, her cheeks, her beautiful nose. He brushed over her   
eyebrows, drawing a line along her hairline, down to her neck   
and back to her earlobes.  
This soft caress of his made her stir. She turned in his   
lap so that she was facing him. Her eyes, however, remained   
closed. Now she was just pretending to be asleep, Frank knew   
woman too well as to be fooled by their little games. He   
enjoyed them, as long as they were playing it fair. His   
fingertip wandered from her hairline over her nose to her lips   
and paid particular attention to them. How soft her lips were,   
how much did he want to kiss them ...  
He kissed her then, by means of his fingers. He kissed   
them and then put them ever so slightly on her lips. Catherine   
decided to wake up then. She opened her deep blue eyes and   
winked at him. A smile brightened her face. He withdrew his   
hand and rested it on her shoulder instead.  
"I like your hands. They're none like a soldier's,"   
Catherine told him, now fully aware of herself. Her nap had   
driven the demons of wine away. Frank didn't know what to   
say. He hadn't ever been told that.  
Catherine smiled. "You're none like Maurice, but you   
remind me very much of him."  
"In what regard?" Frank eventually managed to say.   
Catherine rose and kneeled next to him. Just like his hands   
had been wandering over her face only minutes ago, hers were   
exploring his face now. "You're looking very much like him.   
But Maurice ... wasn't that gentle as you are."  
Frank looked at her askance. "I'm not Maurice," he   
eventually said.  
Catherine chuckled, but it sounded somewhat   
lugubrious. "No, you aren't. I realize that you and him are   
very different in there," she pressed her hand against his   
forehead, "and here." Her hand wandered down to his heart   
and rested there longer than necessary. The warmth of her   
hand was burning through the fabric of his white cotton shirt.  
"I hope so." Did he really say that? He didn't hope so.  
Catherine smiled. "Me too." So he'd actually said it.   
"They've told you our story then," she added.  
"Yes. I'm sorry."  
Catherine shook her head. "Don't, François, don't.   
We've had more fights than we've made love. Maybe it's better   
that way. Still ..." She made herself more comfortable and sat   
next to him now, hanging her feet into the water as well. She   
ran her fingers distractedly through her hair. The setting sun   
was working his magic on her strands and caught red and   
golden highlights in them.  
"You'll never stop loving him," Frank finished the   
sentence for her. Now it was her who was surprised. That   
encouraged Frank to go on, however, he decided to tell her   
the short version of his story. "I've had a relationship similar   
to yours. I would be a husband now if it hadn't been for her.   
Two days before our wedding she panicked, she was afraid   
that she'd have to give up too much of her privacy and   
intimacy. She also wanted to *live* before starting a family."  
They were silent for a minute or so. Catherine was   
sure that this wasn't the end of story yet, but she didn't push   
him. So she waited patiently until he was ready to tell her the   
rest of it. Patience had never been a forte of hers, at least not   
in this regard. "Two months later she fell off her horse. There   
was nothing to be done for her. I'll always love her, but ..."  
Catherine trembled despite the heat. She knew what   
was to come, because she was feeling it too. She too would   
always love Maurice, but that didn't mean she couldn't ever   
love another man. " ... but there's still room in your heart for   
another woman?" Again she finished his sentence. Then she   
nodded knowing. "It's the same with me. Love isn't the same   
with all people, n'est-ce pas?"  
"I think so, yes. But don't you think that there's only   
one true love in your life?" Frank wondered, maybe more to   
himself than to her. He'd never expected her answer to this.   
"Yes. Although I had to wait until yesterday night to meet   
him."  
Then she closed the last remaining distance between   
them by brushing her lips gently over his. Kissing him—even   
though it was only ever so slightly—was nothing like kissing   
Maurice. She withdrew quickly. Maybe she'd gone too far.   
Cautiously she opened her eyes again, afraid of what she   
would find in his eyes. But there was the same expression that   
had been displayed in her eyes earlier. True, genuine and utter   
love. Catherine didn't dare to move. Somehow she was   
spellbound by the candor of his dark eyes that were telling her   
of his love to her.  
The next thing she felt was his hand cupping her chin,   
then he drew her face gently towards his and this time they   
really kissed. Her tongue found its way quickly into his   
mouth, exploring and devouring his mouth just like him. She'd   
always thought that Maurice was the world champion when it   
came to kissing, but Frank was even better. Although his   
kissing wasn't as demanding as Maurice's, it was devouring   
her all the more, because it was so much more gentle and   
loving.   
When they separated again, both of them gasping for   
breath, they smiled at each other sheepishly as if they were   
youngsters. A low chuckle escaped from between Catherine's   
lips. Neither of them had expected this, but that was why it   
was called *falling in love*.  
"Catherine," Frank started to say, but was quieted by a   
tender touch of her fingers on his lips. "Don't Frank. Leave   
the war outside. I mean it. Love and war don't go together   
well and I love you so much I don't want this evening to be   
spoiled by anything."  
He answered her confession of love with another kiss.   
This time, however, they lost their balance and fell into the   
water. When they came up again, they gasped for air and then   
dissolved into laughter. It freed them of their awkwardness   
and it freed them from the bonds that tied them to reality, at   
least for this night.  
  
To be continued ... 


	4. Would It Be Wrong

Disclaimer: see Part 1  
  
Coeur de Lion  
by Katie  
  
Chapter 4  
Would It Be Wrong  
  
  
Although they were only at a few meters' distance   
from the shore, they weren't able to touch the bottom of the   
lake with their feet. Frank raised himself up the landing stage,   
and once he was sitting on its edge he pulled Catherine up. He   
pulled her up that sweepingly that she sat astride his lap and   
almost knocked him over. They had to laugh again, but they   
soon sobered because the sexual tension between the two of   
them was getting stronger and stronger with each moment   
passing.  
Now Catherine's dress was sticking tighter to her body   
than before so that nothing was left to the American's   
imagination any longer. Her nipples had grown stiff once   
again and were pressing hard against the rust-colored fabric.   
The water was running down over her skin in tiny rivulets,   
disappearing into the low-cut of her dress. Some pearls of   
water were dripping from her chin and the tip of her nose, let   
alone from the strands of her hair.  
Only when she said that he would certainly catch a   
cold if he remained in his wet clothing did he realize that he   
was looking the same. Frank could but nod and lifted his arms   
high above his head when Catherine pulled the shirt out of the   
waistband of his trousers. The sight of her firm breasts   
moving beneath the fabric spellbound him, and all of a sudden   
he felt his throbbing member pressing hard against her crotch.   
He closed his eyes and suppressed a low moan.  
The light breeze charmed his hot wet skin and made   
him open his eyes again. Catherine was smiling at him. She   
was running her hands over his smooth hairless chest, teasing   
his erect nipples and memorizing the shape of his torso. Her   
hands never wandered further than the waistband, though.  
"Catherine," he began, catching her wrists with his   
hands to stop her caress for a minute. She looked at him   
askance. "Catherine, I don't want to take advantage of you. I   
didn't mean to ... " He couldn't speak any further, because she   
kissed him once more. Frank was torn between his desire and   
his conscience. He knew that Catherine's emotions were   
roused strongly and he didn't want to take advantage of her.  
"We never mean to fall in love, François. It just   
happens. You're not taking advantage of me. I love you and I   
want you. Now," she told him, looking very serious all of a   
sudden. Frank had to believe her words, had to believe the   
expression in her eyes. She really meant it. So he pulled her   
towards him so that the could feel her body through the wet   
fabric of her dress on his naked skin. Catherine cupped his   
face with her hands and they kissed with all their devotion.  
"You've buttoned your dress up wrong earlier," Frank   
managed to say after he'd regained his breath.  
"Oh, well, I don't think I'll wear this dress any longer   
anyway," Catherine replied with a most seducing smile on her   
lips. She was about to pull the dress over her head, when   
Frank stopped her. He wanted to unbutton her dress, taking   
his own sweet time in discovering her body. With one arm he   
was supporting her back so she was able to bend back as far   
as possible, while with his other hand his opened her dress one   
button at a time. He followed the movements of his hands   
with his lips and tongue, licking and kissing her wet skin.   
Somehow they managed to free her arms from the sleeves of   
the dress so that her body was exposed to the air down to her   
waist. Frank paid particular attention to her breasts, sucking   
and kissing them all over. He felt her fingers drawing through   
his wet hair, pressing his head against her chest. Catherine   
wanted this to last forever. Low moans were escaping her lips   
from somewhere deep within her.  
Then she lifted her hips so that Frank could explore   
her body further. The dress, however, kept sticking to her skin   
and it took all of his patience not to tear it off her body. When   
he was finally able to kiss a line from her breasts down to   
between her legs, this elicited a sob from her. Frank stopped   
to look at her. Her eyes were closed and her lips slightly   
apart. He'd never seen anything more exciting than the face of   
this woman when she was making love.  
Catherine suddenly came back from whatever remote   
realms she had been and smiled down at him. It was incredible   
what her smile and her eyes were telling him. He'd never   
thought that the expression of face could tell as much as hers.   
He'd never been seduced that more willingly nor in a more   
special way by a woman before. So his hands slid down to   
either side of her hips and held her tight while he buried his   
mouth and nose in her wet curls. The smell of her arousal only   
helped to increase his own, and he hadn't thought that he   
could get still more aroused.  
Catherine's hands clenched his short hair and she   
gasped loudly wen she felt his tongue nuzzling her clit. The   
world around her exploded into a fire work of colors and   
sounds and sensations before it vanished entirely and she felt   
weightless, floating through a void white nothing. She heard   
herself cry out loud from a distance.  
The next thing she felt was being caught by Frank's   
arms and gathered in his protecting embrace. She was   
trembling all over and it took her a considerable time to calm   
down. She wasn't sure whether Frank was such a divine lover   
or whether she'd done without sex too long that the mere   
touch of his tongue had sent her that far over the edge.   
Catherine returned the embrace with equal force. Her voice   
wouldn't obey her, so she managed but a husky croak. It had   
never been that an overwhelming experience before, and they   
hadn't even made love *properly* yet.  
"Sh, my love, sh," Frank said repeatedly, caressing her   
back gently. He felt her tremble in his arms. This had been   
that unexpected that he even forgot about his own excitement   
for a second or two. Only when she began to move her hips   
against his and rocked them ever so gently, he became aware   
of himself again. A soft hum of his filled the air and was joined   
by a slightly louder moan of hers.  
Again, they somehow managed to get rid of the last   
remaining pieces of clothing. When Catherine lowered herself   
down onto his arousal and let him enter her, he thought he   
would go around the bend. Their lips found each other's for   
another deep kiss, and soon their tongues were imitating the   
movements of her hips rocking against his in their wild dance.   
Every time their bellies touched an almost electrifying   
sensation increased their pleasure. Frank answered her thrusts   
as strongly as he could and it didn't take them long to hold   
each other and recover from their climax. Frank could hear   
her heavy pants and muffled sobs through the veil of the   
roaring of blood in his ears.   
They collapsed onto the warm boards of the landing   
stage and lay huddled against each other. The world was   
spinning, the treetops, the clouds in the evening sky were   
dancing around them and came to a halt only slowly. The last   
rays of the sun that found their down to Earth dried their wet   
bodies, comforted their light slumber with their gentle warmth   
and bathed their bodies in a glowing red light.  
  
=/\=  
  
Brigitte had just locked the door behind her and was   
putting the keys in her handbag, when from the corners of her   
eyes she saw a figure coming nearer. She lifted her head and   
recognized Hauptmann Brückner. He was in uniform, as   
always, and nothing about his formal appearance indicated   
that he was going to the nightclub to enjoy himself. *If   
somebody like him is able to enjoy himself at all, that is,*   
Brigitte thought. She squared her shoulders a little bit. The   
young woman hadn't expected to see him again that soon. If it   
were her choice to make she'd rather she wouldn't see him   
again at all. She wasn't even sure what to do after the birth of   
the child. A few days ago she'd figured out to put the infant   
into the arms of the first Nazi soldier she saw and to disappear   
never to be seen again. She was still having Bobbie's address,   
maybe she could go to him. Even if he was married meanwhile   
or had another girlfriend, he'd certainly help her find a place to   
live and work in the States.  
"What do you want?" she said ill-mannered. A pig like   
him didn't deserve it any better, especially if she was in a bad   
mood like now.  
"Why, be a bit more friendly to the father of your   
child," Brückner replied calmly. He knew exactly about her   
sore points and never hesitated to let her feel who he was.   
That guy was unpredictable and that was what making him so   
dangerous. He could be as gentle as he'd been earlier that   
afternoon, and he could be a pig like now. Brigitte was glad   
that his tries to hide his feelings behind a mask of command   
were failing miserably and that the expression of his face   
shopped his mood, even if only ever so slightly. "I was hoping   
to be invited to join your welcome-back-party for Herrn   
Leroux," he added more gently.  
"I don't know anything about a welcome-back-party.   
We're closed on Thursdays, see?" Brigitte pointed at the sign   
at the wall next to the door with her finger. They'd hung a   
cardboard sign there after the Germans had occupied their   
town which said in German what everybody in Sainte Claire   
had known by heart ever since the *Coeur de Lion* had   
opened: "Donnerstag Ruhetag". Obviously the German loved   
signs, so why not give them what they wanted? Catherine had   
said that they weren't even realizing that that cardboard sign   
was only making fun of them. So much about the master race.  
"Of course I know, but today is a very special day, and   
I thought that Madame Catherine was going to celebrate the   
return of her husband," Brückner said appeased.  
"Alors, I'm sure the two of them are celebrating this in   
their own way, don't you think?" Brigitte shot back sharply.   
This was just incredible!  
"What about us? I was hoping to have a little bit of   
fun, too tonight," Brückner said. Brigitte was alert at once.   
She knew that tone of voice of his and it didn't augur anything   
well. He closed the remaining distance between them and put   
his arm around her waist. She tried to wriggle away from his   
embrace, but his grip was too strong. Just for once she   
considered her pregnancy to do her some good.  
"You won't harm your child, will you?" she said   
sweetly.  
This worked. Although he didn't let go of her at once   
but stole a kiss from her lips, she was sure he wouldn't want   
any more of her tonight. "Gut, I'll come back tomorrow then.   
And mind you if there will not be a *fête* tomorrow. Gute   
Nacht!" He bowed, turned on the heel of his shiny boots and   
strode away.  
Only when he had vanished around a corner did   
Brigitte allow a sigh of relief to ease her tension. She checked   
on the door lock once more and then hurried to get to her   
father's place.  
  
=/\=  
  
The stars were lighting the sky and twinkling down at   
the two lovers lying wrapped in blankets on the landing stage.   
The candle was burning and brightening the bottle candlestick.   
A second glass was standing next to Catherine's and the   
almost empty bottle of wine.  
The lovers were recovering from yet another   
lovemaking and staring into the night-sky, trying to find   
patterns among them, listening to the chirping of the crickets.   
Catherine was lying half on top of Frank, drawing idle   
patterns on his skin with her fingers, while He was caressing   
her meanwhile dried strands of her hair. The night was still   
very warm and the most peaceful one either of them had had   
in ages.  
Suddenly, Catherine began to hum a melody. Frank   
felt the soft vibrations of her humming as well as he heard the   
tune. He wondered whether there were lyrics to the tune. He   
whispered his questions softly.  
"It's a song Séverine often sings in the *Coeur de   
Lion*. It's one of my most favorite ones," Catherine   
whispered back.  
"Would you mind singing it to me?"  
"Wrong, would it be wrong to kiss, seeing I feel like   
this, would it be wrong to try, wrong, would it be wrong to   
stay, here in your arms this way, under this starry sky. If it is   
wrong and why will you send to me, am I content to be, will   
you forever be wrong, when I need you so much, and I have   
made so wrong. It must be right, it can't be wrong. So when I   
need you so much, and I have waited so long it must be right,   
it can't be wrong ..."  
  
=/\=  
  
"Where is my child? What have you done to her?" Sam   
Wildman demanded to know for the umpteenth time. Their   
Hirogen guard, who brought them their daily rations,   
however, didn't reply. He just pushed their dishes with an   
unidentifiable goo into the crowded cell. Even Neelix'   
concoctions seemed more palatable then. None of the   
prisoners doubted that the ship's chef was among those who   
had been sent to the holodecks.  
When the Hirogen didn't answer again, Wildman   
couldn't control herself any longer. She jumped to her stiff   
legs and darted towards the Hirogen. Although he was a great   
deal taller than her, the impact with which she crashed into   
him and gripped him by the collar made him stumble. "What   
have you bastards done to Naomi?" she yelled at him.  
This brought the other crew who had been dozing or   
lost in their thoughts back to reality. They looked at the   
scientist in awe, expecting only the worst to happen. When   
they'd been thrown into the brig about three weeks earlier,   
they had been treated rather rudely by the Hirogen, although   
only two of them had tried to put up a fight.  
Their Hirogen guard was so taken aback for a second   
or two that he apparently didn't know what had happened in   
the first place. But then he recovered his wits, gripped   
Wildman at her wrists and flung her to the floor. She crashed   
hard into the floor, hit her head with a dull thump and lost her   
consciousness. The others present gasped in shock and some   
of them bent over her to examine her.  
"You can tell her that her child is ours. She is our prey   
and we will hunt her down, just like you!" the Hirogen snarled   
before he left the cell and activated the force field at the   
entrance. Then he left the brig.  
Joe Carey, B'Elanna's deputy, bent over the still form   
of the scientist. His usually cheerful air had been replaced by a   
worried frown ever since the Hirogen had taken Voyager.   
Now he looked as worried as any of the crew had ever seen   
him. It had been obvious that he cared more for Sam Wildman   
than any of the other crew did, so the others made room for   
him to examine her.  
Only a few seconds later did Sam regain her   
consciousness. She found herself lying in the arms of Joe, who   
was holding her tightly. A dull pain was throbbing in the back   
of her head, slightly blurring her vision. The constant   
humming of the warp core, the rustling of the others' uniforms   
and the voices sounded as though she were hearing them from   
a great distance. Even her own voice sounded faint as she   
spoke. "What, Joe, what have they done to Naomi? Why   
wouldn't he tell me?"  
The worry about her only child nearly broke the   
engineer's heart. Naomi was the dearest person Sam had, and   
there was no doubt about it that she would never be the same   
if anything was to happen to her daughter. He couldn't think   
of anyone on Voyager who didn't love the little girl. "I'm sure   
she'll be taken good care of, wherever and whoever she may   
be. Now try to get some rest, but you mustn't sleep," Joe   
softly said and hugged her reassuringly. The impact on the   
floor had certainly made her suffer a mild concussion. Perhaps   
they should try to ask the Hirogen for permission to bring her   
to Sickbay.  
Tears were welling up in her eyes as she listened to his   
words. He was so caring and gentle to her. "She's everything   
I've got, I just want to know whether she'll be safe. It's not   
asking too much, is it?"   
  
=/\=  
  
It was obvious to the others that Catherine and Frank   
had spent the night together, but none of them did say   
anything about it. It was their business only as far as it   
concerned Catherine's happiness. And happy she seemed. She   
was beaming with happiness, although she didn't look changed   
at all. Her radiance was coming from deep within her, and it   
was only Paul who could remember times when he'd seen her   
that happy.  
Brigitte realized very well what was going on, and she   
felt happy for Catherine on the one hand, but on the other   
hand she did envy her much. She had written the letter to   
Bobby, but she felt reluctant as to whether to post it or not.   
Those damn second thoughts had disturbed her repose again   
together with the kicking of the child. Bobby wasn't going to   
marry a French girl with her nursing the enemy's child. Once   
again she had asked herself whether it had been worth the   
intelligence she'd gathered. Once again she asked herself why   
she had decided to keep the child when it hadn't been too late.   
Once again she asked herself why she'd been foolish enough   
to reject Bobby's plea—it had been a proposal after all.  
Catherine went outside to wait for Frank. It was one   
of the last days of the Indian summer and suddenly she felt as   
though she had to enjoy every single day of it. It was only late   
in the morning, but it was already very hot again. Perhaps they   
could go for a swim later. The thought of the day before at   
the lake made her smile, anything that hadn't to do with the   
two of them only had been forgotten for a while. Frank had   
been so gentle, so much unlike Maurice and yet ... their   
lovemaking had been as passionate as always. Sometimes it   
had seemed as though Frank knew her very well, he'd found   
her most sensitive spots, had kissed and caressed her just like   
she loved most.  
"Bon jour, Brigitte," she said cheerfully, and put an   
arm around the other woman's shoulders. "Ça va?"  
Brigitte turned at her older friend and looked into   
those beaming eyes of hers. Tears welled up in her eyes, and   
she had to bend her head and study the tips of her dust-  
covered shoes that were barely visible under her swollen belly.   
"There are days I wish I were another woman."  
"How so? Do you still miss Bobby?" Catherine   
realized all of a sudden. She didn't had to wait for Brigitte's   
approving nod to be sure that was what disturbing her. She   
also noticed the letter she was holding. "You've written a   
letter to him. That's a good idea, I think."  
"For what use? He won't be interested in me!" she   
burst, indicating her pregnant belly.  
Catherine couldn't but gather the young woman in a   
tight embrace. "Listen. If you told him the entire story I'm   
sure he'd understand you. And don't forget that the child is   
yours as well. Maybe it doesn't even look like Brückner, then   
it'll be easier for you to forget."  
"You're probably right. Perhaps Séverine could take   
the letter to Goulot and give it the American she's to meet. It's   
too risky to post a letter to America in Sainte Claire," Brigitte   
thought aloud.  
  
=/\=  
  
The Hirogen who played the role of the commandant   
on Holodeck 3 was the leader of the Hirogen party that had   
taken over Voyager almost three weeks ago. To the crew of   
Voyager who were not part of their wicked games of life and   
death known as the Hunt on either of the three holodecks saw   
him seldomly if not never. Harry Kim was the only one who   
had to meet him on a regular basis . The young ensign was the   
only one left of the Senior Staff to play himself in the that   
killing game of the Hirogen. He had to report about the status   
of the ship and keep him posted on the process of the   
enhancement of the holodeck technology to the leader. The   
Hirogen called their leader by his name Kaar, but Harry had to   
call him by his title being Alpha. Harry didn't waste one   
thought more than necessary whether this was just a   
discrepancy of their universal translator or whether there   
really happened to exist a homophone of the first letter of the   
Greek alphabet in the Hirogen language. Later he came to   
know that it was a translator discrepancy, because the Alpha's   
second-in-command's title was Beta. That would be a   
coincidence too much to be asked by chance.  
Harry was just returning from one of the briefings with   
the Alpha and was on his way back to sickbay, when he ran   
into the Beta—or Sarpa, as he was referred to by his people.   
He was so relieved about the fact that his fiddling with the   
subroutine in Seven's cubicle had gone unnoticed by the sharp   
eye of the Hirogen that he didn't pay any attention to where he   
was going. The Hirogen being too arrogant to make way, it   
was inevitable that the two enemies bumped into each other.   
As commander of Holodeck 1, the Beta was still dressed in   
his SS-man's uniform. The Alpha visited the three holodecks   
only on random in which the World War II scenario was his   
most favorite.  
The Beta didn't say anything when preoccupied Harry   
ran into him. But when Harry raised his head to look at him   
angrily at first, but then ready to apologize, he realized that   
the small dark eyes in the reptilian face of the alien told him   
more than a thousand words. The hatred and the disgust   
sparkling in them were only kept in check by the Alpha's   
orders. If it hadn't been for them, his and his crewmates' bones   
would already decorate the bulkheads of the Hirogen vessel.  
The cold brutal gaze of the Beta gave Harry the   
shivers and he silently thanked god for the Doctor's already   
having made up a plan to get rid of them. The subroutine he'd   
just finished writing when he was summoned to the Alpha   
came back into his mind, and Harry wondered whether he'd   
disguised it well enough as not to raise the suspicion of the   
reptilian aliens. Having enjoyed Starfleet's training, though, he   
didn't let his face betray his feelings. He could never forgive   
himself if he failed his friends and family. He raised his chin,   
set his jaw and squared his shoulders to withhold the stare of   
the Hirogen.  
This encounter lasted only a split second, but to Harry   
it seemed as though he'd had to withstand it for minutes. They   
headed off in opposite directions, Harry resuming his way to   
Sickbay, and the Beta heading to Janeway's Ready Room.  
The Beta had forgotten about the encounter with the   
prey as soon as he entered the room in which the Alpha had   
chosen to reside. "You wanted to see me, Kaar?" Sarpa said   
after the doors had slid shut behind him. Kaar was reviewing   
several reports on the screen of the computer terminal in front   
of him, and waved at him to sit and wait for a few minutes   
until he'd finished his studies. Sarpa remained standing where   
he was. His commander had done some redecorating after   
he'd decided to live aboard the alien vessel for as long as their   
Hunt took. He'd brought the trophies of his most triumphant   
Hunts with him, the bones of ships of races who had been   
foolish enough to get in their way. The had been gathered in a   
net which in turn had been draped over the wall opposite the   
desk in the room. Again, Sarpa had to ask himself why Kaar   
had chosen to stay aboard this ship whose ceilings were   
almost too low for their tall men. Those Federations were a   
good deal smaller than them.  
Kaar's powerful voice brought the Hirogen second-in-  
command back to reality. "How is it going on Holodeck 1,   
Sarpa my friend?"  
Sarpa hesitated. It didn't mean anything good if Kaar   
was calling him his friend. So when he answered, he tried to   
be as diplomatic as he could be. "My people are getting bored.   
They want to hunt the Federations down as much as I do."   
Bluntness was part of Hirogen diplomacy.  
Kaar looked sharply at him. "That is no reason to   
break my orders, Sarpa. I told you not to involve that child in   
any of the scenarios. This is the last time I'll connive at your   
insubordination. I was told by one of the guards that a mother   
asked for her child. I took it that the child had been with her.   
The next time I'll get to know something like this, you'll be   
posted as a guard on our vessel. Is that understood?"  
This time it was Sarpa who squared his shoulders.   
He'd deemed it a good idea to get that child into the   
simulation as well. It wasn't that satisfying to hunt down a   
creature that defenseless, but that thrill of the mother's pleas   
to let her live were even more exciting. "Yes," he hissed.  
Kaar nodded, and then went on talking in such a   
conversational tone as if there hadn't been any rebuke earlier.   
"Tell your people to stand down. Those Federations are far   
more interesting than I anticipated at first. I want to get to   
know them and to understand them. Just the other day I   
received data from a couple reproducing, and one of their   
females is going to give birth any time soon."  
Sarpa managed to suppress a frustrated groan. "If you   
are that interested in their ways, why don't you just let us hunt   
them down and read about them, or watch their audiovisual   
recordings?"  
"Because it's too theoretical," the Alpha thundered   
out. And, having regained his calmness as if it had been   
switched on, he added: "Besides, we do have to let them live   
as long as it takes us to figure out how this holographic   
technology works."  
Sarpa grunted in frustration, he couldn't manage it this   
time. He hated to admit that Kaar was having a point there.   
Kaar nodded and held out a padd to his second-in-command.   
"I understand your concerns, though, and you needs. So I   
have made some changes in the holodecks' *duty roster*, and   
decided to reassign or exchange several of the characters. This   
may prove interesting."  
Sarpa took the alien device Kaar was holding out to   
him and scanned its contents briefly. "You have assigned   
Seven of Nine to Holodeck 3. I took it you liked her voice?"   
he asked in surprise. He hated it if someone was messing   
around with his favorite prey, especially if it was his leader.  
"Of course I do. I was just wondering whether she is   
as good a medieval singer as she is a twentieth century   
nightclub singer," Kaar admitted. He too had doted on the   
former Borg. Sarpa knew that he wasn't going to tolerate this.  
He didn't think in Kaar's ways at all. He and the others   
just wanted to hunt down their prey and triumph, not to   
indulge in sociological studies on a race that was going to   
perish anyway. What good was it to get to know them   
beforehand? Kaar was the best example to show that this only   
evoked feelings for the prey, not against them. As soon as   
there were feelings other than the lust to kill and the taste of   
blood and the deep satisfaction involved that came with the   
Hunt, it was impossible to complete it. Kaar had to be very   
careful, or else it would be him who was going to be the first   
kill in this Hunt. Not all of his subordinates were as patient as   
Sarpa himself was.  
The Beta didn't say anything, though. "What about   
Kim then? I took it you needed him to keep the holodecks up   
and running?"  
Kaar snorted. "The kid is becoming too dangerous for   
us. There are others who are as able as him when it comes to   
the maintenance of the holodecks. I'm going to send him to   
the crusades."  
"But we have already had the crusades!" Sarpa   
protested.  
"That," Kaar said dangerously calm, "need not concern   
you, Beta. You are assigned to Holodeck 1, but as I already   
said I can easily change this."  
The junior officer took a deep breath. If he sent him   
back to their ship, he was going to break apart, Sarpa knew   
that. So he had to obey, even if he didn't like it. "That will not   
be necessary."  
"I hope so," Kaar said coolly. "So see to it that the   
changes are made without any major disturbances. And do not   
forget the child."  
  
To be continued ... 


	5. Ruthless Hunter

Disclaimer: see part 1  
  
Coeur de Lion  
by Katie  
  
Chapter 5  
Ruthless Hunter  
  
Sam Wildman didn't know whether she should be   
relieved or afraid about her new *assignment* she'd been   
given. Part of her suspected this to be some kind of   
punishment for her sudden explosion in the brig earlier, or   
whether this had been planned by the Hirogen anyway. She   
still didn't know which Holodeck she'd been assigned to, but   
deep within her she was hoping that she had the chance to   
meet her daughter Naomi.  
Joe had been so sweet with her earlier. She didn't want   
to leave him. To her, the engineer was what Tom Paris was   
for B'Elanna Torres, and the Commander to the Captain—at   
least did a great many of the crew think so. These couples   
gave each other the peace they needed and completed them in   
one or another way. If looked upon this in a oldfashioned and   
very romantic way—which Sam certainly was in matters of   
the heart—she thought of them as soul mates. Her husband   
Greskrendtregk had been such a person, but he was so far   
away, both in distance and heart. Sam had belonged to those   
people who had received a message from home by means of   
the array. However, she hadn't been happy about this at all,   
because Greskrendtregk had written her that he had moved on   
with his life. He had certainly been happy when he'd heard   
about their daughter Naomi, but like so many others of the   
crew's relatives had he deemed his wife dead. After a period   
of mourning he had gotten to know another woman with   
whom he fell deeply in love.  
Sam had taken this as a license to do what ever she   
wanted. She knew that both of them were always going to   
love each other, even if there were other lovers in their lives.   
After a while she caught herself of having fallen in love with   
Joe Carey a long time ago. At first it had shocked her, but the   
more she thought about it, the better did she feel. Now she   
didn't want to leave him. The only thing to soothe her was the   
fact that he too had been reassigned. He had to take over   
Ensign Harry Kim's place at holodeck maintenance. Perhaps   
there was some way to checkmate the Hirogen.  
Her thoughts wandered back to Naomi. Perhaps she   
could protect her in some way. She knew that the crew on the   
holodecks were being controlled by a Hirogen device and   
given other identities, so she didn't know whether she would   
recognize Naomi and vice versa. Sam had always been a   
woman to believe in the good in people. She couldn't believe   
that the Hirogen were cruel enough to hunt down and kill   
little defenseless children. But then they killed innocent people   
just because they were addicted to thrill it was giving them, so   
what could make them stay away from little children?  
When she arrived in Sickbay, she met Harry Kim who   
was taking his new assignment far less calmly than her. Of   
course was the probability of being killed in one of the   
holodecks pretty high, but if they didn't find a way to free   
themselves they were going to die anyway. So Sam wondered   
why Harry was so upset, if it weren't for him having   
something up his sleeve. He was hiding it well enough for the   
Hirogen, but he couldn't betray her. Having enjoyed special   
psychological training and knowing Harry a little bit, Sam   
knew that the young Asian was very nervous. Hope flashed,   
and Sam didn't feel so small any longer. The ensign's   
nervousness didn't stem from fear of what expected him, but   
of fear that a plan of his wasn't going to work out. He was   
just behaving like a man who was having good cards and was   
afraid of another one finishing the game before it was his turn.  
"Would you please calm down, Ensign!" the Doctor   
barked at the young man. He too had sensed his nervousness.  
*It's all right for a hologram to talk, Harry thought.   
The Hirogen had drawn the joker at the eleventh hour, and   
thus had shattered their only chance to save the ship and her   
crew. And what was the hologram doing? He'd put up his best   
poker face. At least he'd managed to write that subroutine in   
Seven's cubicle, maybe that would help them at least a wee   
bit. So despite himself Harry took a deep breath and tried to   
calm down.  
"Now, that's much better," the Doctor commented in   
his best and most annoying I'm-treating-little-children-manner.   
"If the Hirogen can play foul, so can we, can't we, Ensign?"  
Harry nodded somewhat unsure. He didn't quite   
understand what the Doctor was getting at. Had he already   
changed their plan?  
"I haven't managed to hack my way to the subroutine   
in Seven of Nine's cubicle yet, but I'll keep working on it   
whenever the Hirogen don't look. However that may be,   
according to our plan I've managed to infect some of the   
neural interfaces with the Borg nanoprobes. It'll take them   
about one hour to destroy or limit their function until you'll be   
able to put the security protocols back online," the Doctor   
explained.  
"We've just got to put the security protocols back   
online?" Harry repeated in disbelief.  
"Yes. I'll have Lieutenant Carey continue your efforts,   
Ensign. For now, it's more important that you get the security   
protocols back online, and this can be accomplished more   
easily from inside the holodecks," the Doctor explained.  
Harry and Sam nodded in agreement. The ensign   
should have thought of this himself. They didn't know how   
long it was going to take them to infect all of them with the   
nanoprobes, so it was more important to first make sure that   
their crew mates weren't injured or killed any longer.   
The Doctor continued. "I'll give you an authorization   
code the Hirogen can't break through once it's engaged. Then   
I'll see to it that I reprogram the nanoprobes. Lieutenant   
Carey and the two of you are to make sure that the replicated   
food and drink are infected with them."  
"What about your special plan?" Harry pressed. He   
deemed it high time that the Doctor told him about it. He was   
curious as to what the hologram had up his sleeve.  
"Ah, I'm not going to tell you about it, as I've already   
told you. Too much is at stake here."  
"What about the tools we'll need?" Sam chimed in.   
Until now she'd only listened to the conversation. The plan   
they were having was good, and it filled her with pride that   
Joe was going to have part in it. This was nonsense of course,   
because anyone was ready to contribute in any way they   
could. Maybe the feeling was more one of relief than one of   
pride, maybe it was rather trust in Joe's abilities as an   
engineer.  
"I'll make sure you find them, don't worry," the   
hologram assured her.  
Just then the doors to Sickbay whooshed open and in   
came the Hirogen medic Ysakc. He went straight to the main   
surgery area where the Federations' doctor and the   
newcomers were standing and chatting. The guard that had   
been posted next to door hadn't paid much attention to the   
ongoing in the sickbay, but that changed immediately. Sam   
couldn't help but smile. Even the best gamblers made   
mistakes. If it hadn't been for the guard's lethargy or   
overconfidence they could have never talked about their   
rescue plan. Her morale had been boosted immeasurably by   
their talk, but she wasn't going to let her façade shop them.   
Just like with the others, her Starfleet training snapped into   
gear as soon as she noticed Ysakc enter.  
"Why is this taking so long?" the Hirogen barked.  
The Doctor put on his most arrogant demeanor as he   
replied. "Because I'm not going to risk my crewmates' lives   
because of sloppy work. You should know about the   
Hippocratic oath by now." He held the steady gaze of the   
Hirogen with a cold expression on his face.  
"Hurry up now!" the Hirogen hissed and stepped back   
so the hologram cold perform his duty. Harry let out a soft   
sigh of relief.  
  
=/\=  
  
"Bon jour, chéri!" Catherine craned her neck so Frank   
didn't have to bend down too far to kiss her good morning.   
They couldn't really talk about *morning* any longer, for   
Séverine had just left for Goulot's place to get the high   
frequency oscillator. Catherine was very anxious for her to   
return, not only because of their new toy.  
Brigitte had given Séverine the letter for her boyfriend.   
Perhaps she would get an answer someday, it didn't matter if   
it was positive or negative. Of course did Catherine hope that   
it would be a positive one. Brigitte really deserved it.   
Catherine was almost having a bad conscience in regard to   
her, for last night she'd found the love of her life. She wanted   
others to be happy as well, Brigitte being on top of her list.   
The young woman had sacrificed her body for the sake of   
their town, and she was suffering a great deal from this, more   
than any of them—she herself included—had estimated.   
Catherine knew that all of them were in great debt of her, and   
the worst thing about this was that they were never going to   
be able to pay her back.  
"Good morning, love," Frank said after he'd kissed   
her. Her lips tasted sweet and bitter at the same time;   
croissants and coffee went together well. But this wasn't   
concerning Frank very much. It was rather that he wanted to   
enjoy their togetherness as much as possible and forget about   
what was to come after all of this.  
"Séverine has already left for Goulot's. I think she'll be   
back in two hours," she told him and motioned him to take a   
seat in the cool shade of the awning. Just then, Brigitte   
returned from the kitchen, a cup of coffee in hands.  
She felt somewhat awkward in the presence of the   
American. With him being around she felt closer to Bobby.   
This was nonsense of course, because Bobby and Miller didn't   
even know each other, nor did they have anything in common   
save their nationality. Her awkwardness may also have been   
because of his being the doppelgänger of Maurice. She had   
been very close to Maurice. They'd never been lovers, though,   
because to her he had been like a brother she'd never had.   
Brigitte knew that Maman Leroux had rather she'd have   
married Maurice instead of Catherine. But she'd known from   
the beginning that this was impossible. It had been as   
impossible as it was to look for something like this   
relationship in Frank Miller now. The war would be over   
soon, at least they hoped so, and he was going to return to the   
States just like Bobby had eight years ago. Eight long years ...  
And now this man had slept with Catherine. To her   
great relief she realized that they'd fallen in love, too. She   
didn't want Catherine to be hurt, she deserved a little bit of   
happiness. However, she couldn't help wondering whether the   
relationship between them was going to end like hers and   
Bobby's.  
"Good morning," she nodded at him, and sat down at   
their table. Frank greeted her, and then turned back at   
Catherine.  
"Is it that far to Goulot's?"  
"No, but Séverine always stays longer at her father's,"   
Catherine told him.  
"I see." Frank smiled.  
"May I ask you something?" Brigitte chimed in. Frank   
made a gesture for her to go ahead. "How come you speak   
French so well? Bobby ... a friend from America ... he never   
managed to speak French so well as you," she asked.   
Catherine noticed her hesitance when she'd mentioned Bobby,   
but Frank obviously didn't.  
"My mother was a Frenchwoman. She took good care   
that my sisters and I learn French," Frank explained with a   
mischievous smile that carved deep dimples into his tanned   
face.  
"She's made a very good job of it," Brigitte said.  
Frank nodded still smiling. "She used to call me   
François, so I felt very much a t home when you called me   
this yesterday."  
Brigitte almost blushed when he said this. She wasn't   
sure any longer whether she'd been right in her thoughts about   
him earlier. Maybe she could have a relationship with him that   
was similar to the one she'd shared with Maurice. If it hadn't   
been for the tattoo on his forehead and his unfamiliarity with   
everything around him—and his being an American of   
course—she could have thought that Maurice had finally   
come back. No matter what that sailor had written in his letter   
to Catherine.  
"What I wanted to tell you earlier was that my special   
friend the Hauptmann came to see me yesterday night. He   
wanted to join the welcome-back-party for you. I managed to   
turn him down when I closed the *Coeur de Lion*, but," she   
sipped her hot coffee carefully, "he expects us to throw a   
party tonight."  
Catherine snorted in disgust. What had gotten into that   
self-important flash Harry of a Nazi? She leaned back in her   
chair and didn't say anything.  
"At least," Frank eventually said, "does this offer me a   
chance to meet ... Brückner, it is?" Brigitte having nodded in   
agreement, Frank went on. "So I'll get to know him on a   
casual occasion. I already know his file, and what information   
our intelligence has gathered on him, but there's nothing like   
getting to know someone personally, n'est-ce pas?"  
"That's true," Catherine had to admit. Then she   
suppressed a yawn and smiled sheepishly at Frank. "So let's   
throw a party none of them has ever enjoyed before!"  
  
=/\=  
  
He was on his way to a Monsieur Goulot where he   
was to meet a member of the local Résistance to exchange the   
urgently needed high frequency oscillator for the latest reports   
of the intelligence they'd gathered on the course of events in   
Sainte Claire.   
It had been obvious that High Command chose him   
above all to do the exchange. Having spent the summer of '36   
in the town of Sainte Claire, he knew the area like none of the   
others, and he could speak French. This was thanks to   
Brigitte, a girl he'd gotten to know and to love. Because of his   
love for her he'd canceled the rest of his journey through   
Europe and had stayed here in the small lovely town. Their   
good-bye had been very painful. He hadn't realized how   
deeply he really was in love with the Frenchwoman until the   
outbreak of the war.  
Until five years ago, they'd never been out of touch by   
writing letters to each other. These last five years had been the   
longest ones in his life. He had asked her several times to   
come to live with him in the States, but she had always turned   
him down. Then for one reason or another she'd stopped   
writing to him. It had hurt him very much and he'd wondered   
if it had been his fault. Maybe he'd pressed into her too much,   
despite his understanding she wanted to stay in occupied   
France.  
When President Roosevelt had decided to enter the   
war, Bobby had joined the Allied Forces. Why he didn't know   
any more, perhaps he'd been bored, perhaps he had hoped to   
find Brigitte and finally win her heart. It never even occurred   
to him that she might have moved on with her life.  
As soon as Captain Miller had been given permission   
to infiltrate German occupation in the town of Sainte Claire,   
he had been given orders to assist him as much as possible.  
Now he was sitting outside the charcoal burner's small   
house and had a drink with Monsieur Goulot while waiting for   
his contact to come. The oscillator had been wrapped   
carefully in rags and was ready to be hidden under a load of   
charcoal which their contact was to take to the headquarters   
of the Maquis. He didn't have any clue as to how this entire   
business was working. The less people knew about this, the   
better.  
So he wondered whether he was going to see Brigitte.   
Sainte Claire wasn't far, and the thought of being so close and   
yet so far from her made him uneasy. This and the fact that   
the contact was late made him nervous. "What time did you   
say he was supposed to be here?" He eventually asked.  
"She," Goulot merely said. The American next to him   
looked puzzled. "She, it's a girl we're waiting for, she's my   
little girl," Goulot explained smiling.  
"Oh."  
Goulot laughed. "Calm down, my friend. Maybe there   
was some trouble with the gang in town. Séverine might have   
had to delay coming out here to make sure they don't get after   
her." He padded the sandy haired man's thigh in a reassuring   
manner. The American had to agree. Why was he getting so   
damn nervous all of a sudden?  
"I'm starving. What about a bite to eat and some more   
of this excellent vin?" Goulot suggested and got up.  
"That's a good idea, Père Goulot," his guest agreed.   
Anything that could distract him was welcome. And maybe he   
could ask the charcoal burner about what was going on in   
Sainte Claire. "This is really a good wine."  
"1940 Château Picard. C'est bon, eh?" Goulot poured   
him some more of the ruby red liquid. As he was standing   
with his back turned at the way that led to the town, he   
couldn't see what Bobby saw.  
A fair haired girl came running from the woods that   
fast that she almost fell. The curls of her hair were bouncing   
to the rhythm of her steps, and her face was flushed with   
effort. She was carrying a rag doll with her whose limp limbs   
were slapping her as if to urge her on.  
"Look, I think your little girl's coming," he pointed at   
the little girl and got up. When Goulot turned around, he   
laughed.  
"This isn't my little girl, this is Noëmie. She's a contact   
as well. Actually, I though my daughter Séverine was going to   
come. That's strange."  
  
=/\=  
  
Harold the Voyager from Cymru shifted his position   
for the umpteenth time this morning. It had been only a few   
days ago that the crusader campaigns had captured the city of   
Acre under the command of Kings Richard Coeur de Lion and   
Philipp II Augustus of France. The city of Jerusalem was   
under siege, too. The situation of the Saracens was   
precarious, and in the opinion of King Richard's advisors—  
and his Majesty's opinion—it was only a matter of time until   
Sultan Saladin had to give in and offer peace talks. Saladin   
had captured Jerusalem four years ago and had beaten the   
Christians. Now—with the blessing of the Pope--it was their   
duty to take revenge for this, and after so many things had   
gone wrong in this Third Crusade, it seemed as though their   
hardships and the death of many good men was to be crowned   
with success.  
Harold, Roger and several of their friends were sitting   
under the protecting awning in front of their tents and were   
waiting for the long-awaited message from the Sultan. It was   
only midmorning, but the sun was already scorching hot. They   
watched their squires tend to their warhorses, sipping watered   
down wine and picking at their breakfast without appetite.   
Roger was nursing a wound in his right thigh he'd suffered   
from an enemy's arrow. He wasn't the only one of them who   
was already drunk. It was the only way to drown the pain.   
Flies bothered them, the hygienic conditions in the   
camp were getting worse with each day passing, and food was   
running low as well. They hadn't found much foodstuffs in   
Acre, for they'd besieged the town before capturing it. They   
wanted to get home as soon as possible. Sure, the triumph   
was theirs, and the glory of the Christendom as well, but there   
was nothing like home after years of warfare.  
"When will that damn bastard of a messenger come?"   
Roger mumbled.  
"Soon, friend, soon," Harold said for the umpteenth   
time. Again he shifted his sitting position. If there wasn't   
anything going to happen anytime soon he was sure he'd go   
nuts. Lazily they watched people going by, knights and   
squires, with or without their horses, wounded were being   
carried on stretchers, and every now and then a prisoner was   
led through the narrow streets between the colorful tents. The   
flags and pennants hung like dripping wet rags from the   
flagpoles. Not even the lightest breeze stirred the hot smelly   
air. A woman left the busy row of the passers-by and   
approached them. There weren't many women in the camp,   
and the men were aching from their desire, so it was only   
natural that Roger and several of the others cheered and   
whistled when the maiden came.  
She was a beautiful blonde, with huge ice blue eyes   
and seductively full lips. She was very proud, and she was a   
mysterious person. Nobody knew the story of the strange   
piece of jewelry covering her left eyebrow, nor the semi-star   
next to her right ear, or the cobweb of metallic shimmering   
bands on the back of her left hand. Some men who had   
encountered women from India, the mysterious country in the   
East said they'd already seen jewelry like this. None of the   
women wearing it, however, had been fair haired or fair   
skinned.  
Harold was fascinated by her as well, he even desired   
her, although he had a wife and children back home in Cymru.   
Just like the others, he'd done without the joys of love for   
much too long. In addition to that, he had the strange feeling   
that protecting this woman was some kind of duty to him. The   
others were good friends, but they were brutes when it came   
to treating woman.   
"My fair Lady Séverine, what brings you to us?" he   
asked good-naturedly. From the corners of his eyes he could   
see the others' eyes pop out of their sockets.  
"I have come to change Sir Roger's dressings," she   
said, holding the bowl with water and the flasks with medicine   
in way they could see them better.  
"Are you sure that's the only thing to be done here?"   
Alfred laughed.  
Séverine actually blushed and lowered her head. Now   
Harold couldn't compose himself any longer. "Watch your   
tongue, Alfred, she's my girl!" he hissed at the redhead. Alfred   
in turn made a pacifying gesture. "Calm down, my friend, we   
know that. Maybe Lady Séverine could ask some of her   
friends to join us?"  
"Maybe," Séverine softly said. Hesitant, she crouched   
next to Sir Roger and started tending to his wound. She had   
half finished her work, when loud shouts and a howl of   
triumph was to be heard from the plaza in front of the King's   
tent. Harold, Roger and the others belonged to the few lucky   
people who served the King in a special way, so their tents   
weren't far away from their feudal lord's. Harold and Sir   
Simon got up quickly to find out what the tumult was about.   
Had the messenger from Saladin finally arrived?   
Lady Séverine watched her knightly protector go with   
mixed feelings. Only moments ago he'd protected her from the   
mocking of his friends, and now it seemed as though he'd   
forgotten about her. A fine knight he was, she thought   
bitterly, feeling awkwardness rising in her throat in form of a   
heavy lump. Roger caught her completely off-guard when he   
touched her arm. She let out a shriek, with which she regained   
Sir Harold's attention. He shot the injured man an angry   
glance.  
"I just wanted to tell her that she's safe with me,"   
Roger shrugged in an apologizing way. "In my condition it   
wouldn't be wise to take a woman. Don't you worry, my fair   
Lady!"  
Séverine looked somewhat uncertain, but when she   
saw Harold nod, she knew that both men could be trusted. It   
was no secret that Lady Séverine had been widowed during a   
feud back in the Duchy of Normandy. Her husband, a vassal   
to the Duke of Normandy, had been killed by his cousin.   
Having been sent to a nunnery, Séverine decided to   
accompany the crusaders as a nurse to escape the narrowness   
of the nunnery. A beguine, she had not taken the oath,   
though, but nevertheless had she to obey the strict rules, and   
had to put up with the Mother Superior.   
"I'm sorry, I was just kidding," Sir Roger said after   
Harold had left them. He knew her story, and as a knight it   
was supposed to be his duty to protect the weak. Séverine   
merely nodded and continued her work.  
  
=/\=  
  
Sarpa was still trembling with the excitement and the   
satisfaction he'd experienced when he'd hunted his favorite   
prey Seven of Nine down. Of course it hadn't been the final   
lethal hunt, but at least it had helped him to satisfy his   
impatience. For now. As soon as she was his, he was going to   
decorate his bulkheads with her bones, he would remove all of   
the other trophies he'd gathered so far. He even thought of   
taking her beautiful yellow hair as well. Ever since he'd seen   
her hair cascading down her shoulders in golden waves, he'd   
been eager to get it, make her body all his. No prey had   
excited him that much before.  
Anger, however, was pumping through his system as   
well. Kaar had taken Seven away from him for his own   
excitement. Now Sarpa could slap himself for his folly of   
showing his favorite prey off to the Alpha. Kaar, too, was a   
man of good taste, and Sarpa felt the power over her body   
being pulled away from him, just like blood poured from the   
hunted-down. It was too late, he'd lost her now. Kaar wanted   
to indulge further in his ill studies of their prey. If it hadn't   
been for his being the Alpha of their hunting party, he'd have   
been killed for this long ago. No Hirogen had dared to behave   
himself like this before, and frankly, Sarpa thought that they'd   
watched his wantonness long enough. Almost all of the other   
members of their party were in the same opinion, and the Beta   
knew that he was fully supported by them whatever his plans   
concerning the Alpha might be.  
As soon as the right time had come, he and his   
supporters would first hunt him down, and then, with he   
himself as their new leader, they would bring this hunt to an   
end. For the time being, though, it was certainly better to   
stand low and wait. One thing was sure: Sarpa wasn't going to   
let Kaar have the joys of having the Human female with the   
fair hair. He would fight for her.  
  
To be continued ... 


	6. Those Who Hurt For Their Needs

Disclaimer: see part 1  
  
Cœur de Lion  
By Katie  
  
  
Chapter 6  
Those Who Hunt for Their Needs  
  
After the Doctor had completed the surgery and finished   
repairing Seven's injuries, he convinced Ysakc that her neural   
interface had to be exchanged. One of the projectiles of the   
Hirogen and Nazis' Lugers had all but missed Seven's cranium.   
Instead, it had hit her neural interface. To the Doctor's big surprise,   
the device had been damaged only slightly, but it was enough that   
he could justify an exchange.  
"Is the exchange really necessary?" Ysakc demanded. "To   
me it seems perfectly operational." He ran one of his Hirogen   
instruments over the device that was still under Seven's pale skin.  
"Yes, it is," the Doctor replied sharply. "This woman is a   
former Borg, as you may have noticed by now. The damage of the   
interface may cause damage to her implants. I don't want to take   
the risk of injuring her. I have to help people and prevent   
injuries—I understand pretty well that this concept is entirely   
foreign to you."  
Ysakc snorted about the last remark of the hologram. "See   
that you finish it soon. The Alpha is waiting."  
So the Doctor had managed to exchange Seven's interface   
with a contaminated one. He just hoped that the nanoprobes would   
assimilate the device quickly. In regard to this, he had the same   
premise as the Hirogen: to bring her back to the Holodeck as   
quickly as possible. Only when she was in the artificially generated   
environment would the interface be activated—as well as the   
nanoprobes.  
It was high time they did something. Quite a few of the   
crew had often been severely injured, and their bodies needed time   
to heal. Healing wasn't only a matter of surgical skill, even if as   
brilliant as his, but also a matter of time. Time was something they   
didn't have. As soon as the medical procedures were completed,   
Ysakc would send them back to the holodecks. Several of the crew   
had been brought back to Sickbay only hours—or even little—   
later because wounds had opened or Ysakc's little knowledge of   
how to treat humans had caused internal bleedings. The crew had   
fared surprisingly well, but this wasn't a cause to take his time.   
Any of them could break down any time, and maybe he wasn't   
going to be able to help them. The Doctor wasn't going to have any   
of his crew killed by the Hirogen.  
The only thing that soothed him somewhat was the fact   
that the neural interfaces circumvented the memory centers of the   
victims' brains. The damage the Hirogen inflicted on the bodies   
were far easier to heal than the dark spots they'd leave on the   
crew's souls. He wasn't sure whether he'd be able to help them.   
He'd been programmed with quite a few reports on people   
traumatized by war, and as far as he knew only few of his crew   
would be able to go back on duty if they were to remember what   
the Hirogen had done to them. At least not without professional   
help, and he knew that he was far from being a counselor.   
He'd contacted Joe Carey via a bugproof channel. It was   
the only way to contact him, because there was no reason for the   
engineer to come to Sickbay. He filled him in on their plan. Carey   
should be busy reprogramming the replicators by now. The Doctor   
trusted him to having found a reasonable pretext to *repairing* the   
replicators.   
Shortly after that, something exceptional had happened.   
Kaar himself had contacted him to fill him in on the plans he was   
having with Harry, Seven and Sam. The Hirogen commandant had   
obviously undergone a lobotomy, for he'd completely changed his   
mind. He had told him that he was going to send the three humans   
to *peaceful* scenarios. At least he'd said that he'd ordered his   
people to stand down and not to kill any of the Federations. The   
incident with Seven, though, didn't convince the Doctor of Kaar's   
sincerity. So he pretended to trust the Hirogen, but he kept his plan   
up and running behind the commandant's back. He wasn't   
convinced by Kaar's sudden interest in the way of life on Voyager.   
After all that had happened it was very unlikely that Kaar was   
indulging in sociological studies other than those of wars. If he   
were sincere, he'd have put an end to the simulations by now.  
  
=/\=  
  
Ever since Frank *François* Miller had joined them,   
Catherine seemed somehow rested and endowed with an entirely   
new strength. To Paul it was obvious that Frank was the source of   
this new strength. He'd talked to Brigitte earlier and had found that   
she too feared that Catherine would break apart once Frank left her.   
He was American, a soldier on top of that, it was just a matter of   
time that he left her. Therefore, he was deeply concerned about his   
friend, but there was hardly a chance to talk to her about this.  
Her new strength showed itself for the first time when Père   
Goulot arrived with Noëmie at the *Cœur de Lion*. A hermit, he   
never came to town, so when he appeared now with Noëmie in his   
arms, all of them knew that this didn't mean anything good. Their   
suspicions were born out when he told them about Séverine's   
assassination. Catherine remained as cool as the lake in the woods.   
As always, she had to be the calming influence, she and Paul had   
to make sure that the others didn't panic. The only difference   
between the two of them was that Catherine drew her strength from   
Paul, who seemed to having been blessed with it by nature. Paul,   
however, knew that he couldn't be the only source for her strength.   
Part of it had to come from the man she loved, and he himself was   
*only* her best friend. His and her calm had to rub off on the   
others. It was of utmost importance now that all of them stay calm.   
This didn't mean though that they had to suppress their grief or   
anger or disappointment. It was just that for the sake of the   
Résistance that they did not show it in public. They were too close   
to their goal as though they could put it and themselves into   
jeopardy.  
Goulot hadn't even finished with what Noëmie had told   
him earlier, when Brigitte ran for the bathroom. The others wished   
they could throw up as well, getting rid of this awful thing in an   
easy way. But the death of a friend never was an easy affair. After   
she'd told everything she'd seen to Goulot and the American   
contact, Noëmie had withdrawn herself into a protecting shell. It   
was the only way for the little girl to escape the haunting   
memories, the pictures of Séverine being shot that had engraved   
themselves into her mind forever. Ever since Goulot had gently put   
her down to sit on a chair, she hadn't made a single movement. She   
kept clutching her rag doll, staring at no particular point on the   
dark floorboards.  
After Brigitte had returned from the bathroom, still looking   
a little pale, Catherine asked her to take care of the little girl. She   
deemed it a good idea, perhaps both of them would be able to calm   
down. Maybe Noëmie would even wake from her apathy; but   
being honest with herself, Catherine doubted that. She never gave   
up hope, though. *Never say never* was an ancient saying, but to   
her it was absolutely true, and to the Maquis it was the essential   
point of their philosophy.  
So Catherine pulled Brigitte aside by the arm, and let a   
small flask glide into one of the younger woman's big pockets of   
her maternity dress. Brigitte looked at her in surprise. "It's some of   
the mildest cognacs I have. Give the little one a little bit of it, she'll   
be able to go to sleep more easily then. But take it easy, listen!"   
Catherine told her, looking at her intently. She knew that Brigitte   
would never touch a drop of alcohol, let alone let a five-year-old   
have some. Brigitte, however, though still shell-shocked, realized   
what the Madame was having in mind, and nodded, padding the   
flask through the fabric of the pocket.  
"D'accord. La pauvre!" Brigitte murmured. She squeezed   
Catherine's hand.  
"Are you alright, honey? What about the child?" the older   
woman asked in genuine concern. Brigitte was going to give birth   
soon, it was only a matter of days. Brigitte forced a smile on her   
face, but it never brightened the ridges on her forehead. "We'll be   
okay. I'm just a little bit upset, that's all, but I guess we all are."  
Catherine gathered her in a hug, feeling the baby kick her   
mother when she touched her belly with hers. Tears stung her eyes.   
She wanted so much to have a child but couldn't, and this young   
woman who didn't want to be a mother was expecting. Why did   
God do that to people?   
  
Joe Carey didn't know how to go on like this. He took   
whatever rare spare minute the Hirogen gave him to sneak into   
Cargo Bay Two and work on the reprogramming of the replicators.   
It was hard work, because the Hirogen were simply everywhere in   
the computer core of Voyager, which made it impossible to work   
undetected. Of course did he run simulations before he worked   
online to make sure this would work in real life, but he was failing   
again and again. Whatever he attempted, there would always be a   
hole in the net that would shop him if he worked online.  
Now the Irish man was sitting in the Mess Hall having his   
lunch while repairing some broken conduits in a padd Ysakc had   
handed him earlier. As if he hadn't anything better to do than   
repairing broken padds. He chewed on his dried food from the   
emergency rations and checked on the padd. It was, however, a   
nice distraction, it was child's work that would help to calm his   
mind for a while.  
The pressure on him was immense, the hopes of all his   
crewmates was burdening him. If he were to fail, the Doctor   
wouldn't be able to put his plan into effect. He didn't know as to   
whether the hologram had another plan up his sleeve, so he urged   
himself to find a way to sneak into the replicator programs. This   
was particularly difficult since the Hirogen were using this   
technology very often, doing the reprogramming themselves. They   
would detect any changes in the food's matrix immediately. Even   
Harry Kim's subroutine wasn't much of a help. It disguised   
sneaking into to replicator program, but it didn't disguise the   
changes.  
There had to be a way. What about the IDIC? Was it to fail   
right when you needed it most? Logic, Carey, he thought, think   
logically. He focused on the padd and checked on the scrolling   
function. Up and down it went, fine. He pushed some other   
buttons, all of them were working fine as well. What he needed   
was an expert on working undercover, some kind of agent or spy,   
someone who could disguise herself very well, someone who had   
fooled them all—someone like Seska.  
And suddenly he knew what he had to do. The secret   
holonovel she'd written popped back into his mind. The captain   
herself and B'Elanna had written the solution down in the logs.   
Why hadn't he had the idea earlier? The solution to this was on   
their very hands, and he hadn't even realized it! Quickly, with   
spirits risen, he crossed the Mess Hall in a few long strides and   
began to work feverishly on the computer console of the captain's   
former private dining room.  
He wasn't going to let his crew down. Not as long as he   
was conscious of the role he played aboard this ship ...  
  
=/\=  
  
Kaar had changed from his Nazi uniform into the splendid   
garments of medieval nobility. In fact, he'd chosen the robes a king   
would wear, for in this holodeck he himself represented King   
Richard Cœur de Lion. He didn't know whether it was pure   
coincidence that the nightclub on the other holodeck was called the   
same, but frankly, he didn't care. More pressing things were   
troubling his mind right now.  
Sitting in the high-backed and cushioned with crimson   
velvet chair, he let his entourage wait for his sign. They were   
waiting for the announcements he had to make after the talks he'd   
been leading with the representative of Sultan Saladin. To them—  
the holographic characters and the Federations whom he'd had had   
implanted with the neural interfaces—were waiting in respectful   
silence in his tent and outside. Kaar let his gaze wander over the   
crowd of people. There was Harry Kim, dressed in heavy leather   
boots, leggings and a long robe, his short sword and dagger were   
dangling from his belt, ready to be drawn against an enemy. There   
were several of what the Federations called the junior staff as well,   
mostly engineers and members of the security team. From Ysakc's   
reports he knew that quite a few of them had been injured severely   
during the past few turns. However, none of them showed any   
signs of those injuries, for Ysakc and the holographic Doctor of the   
Federations had taken good care of them.  
For the first time in his long and eventful life as a hunter,   
Kaar was second-guessing not only himself, but also the way of his   
people. In the language of their victims their name meant *Those-  
who-hunt-for-their-needs*. But this name stemmed from a time   
when they'd lived peacefully on a planet, earning their living by   
hunting the game they needed, but nothing more. Not unlike the   
ancestors of the Federations, their history had soon grown more   
and more violent. Other than their prey though, the Hirogen had   
never managed to make peace with each other and later with the   
Off-Worlders. The ability to survive and to make peace was   
something of which he envied these people. They were able to   
solve conflicts—even if not always in a peaceful way—but at least   
they tried. His people, instead, had gone far beyond the point   
of no return. Now they couldn't live without the thrill of the battle   
or rather without the thrill they experienced whenever they killed   
their innocent and often defenseless prey. Their deaths meant the   
Hirogen's survival. But how long could they go on like this? Their   
sects were roaming the entire sector, going farther each turn in the   
search for prey. They were weak, even though they had powerful   
weapons. Once they didn't find prey any more, they were to die.  
Unless they found a way to quench their blood-thirst in   
another way. Their scientists had researched their problem. This   
was entirely a matter of hormones, but there wasn't a drug to be   
found that could cure them all and let them live as the peaceful   
people they'd once been.  
This had been long ago and people had given up on finding   
an elegant solution. Their culture had decayed, their writings had   
been lost and destroyed on purpose, and their artists had exchanged   
their brushes and crayons for weapons. Most of his people even   
had forgotten about their heritage. Kaar was one of the few who   
still remembered.  
Kaar also was one of the few who didn't only search for   
new prey, but for a cure for his people as well.  
Now he seemed to have found it. A people who didn't even   
belong to this sector, who had been sent here against their will   
were having the cure his people needed so badly. And what was he   
doing? He wanted to get it by force, take it without asking first. He   
hated himself for this, but what could he do? Looking for a cure   
was illegal, being different was illegal. The only thing he could do   
was awaken his men's curiosity for the way of the Federations.   
Until now, this plan had backfired though. Instead of waking their   
curiosity he'd added oil to the fire and made them even more blood   
thirsty.  
Yet the ways of these people was so fascinating. He'd   
gotten to know them very well by means of the war scenarios of   
their history he'd been running on the holodecks. One thing had   
fascinated him more than anything else: the Federations' way of   
reproduction. In the course of his observations he'd studied several   
couples who had mated in the holodecks. From the research he'd   
done in their databases, he knew everything about this in theory.   
When he'd watched a mating couple for the first time, he'd deemed   
it a painful business, because both the male and the female had   
been moaning and crying out loud during the act. Later he found   
out that these had been sounds of passion. It was a strange concept   
to him that the Federations' mating wasn't bound to a particular   
time of the circle, rather than to their lust, and that they were doing   
it mainly to enjoy themselves rather than to really reproduce. He'd   
also observed mating couples who were having the same sex—a   
totally strange concept to him. Kaar found out about *love* in the   
database. He was surprised as to how much information there was   
stored about this concept. He remembered that once there had been   
a similar concept with the Hirogen, but this had been ages ago,   
now their reproducing depended solely on the need for hunters. His   
latest couple of guinea pigs had been the Captain and the First   
Officer of Voyager. He realized that there had to be something they   
called *chemistry*--which also was a science to them, no wonder   
given the mass of information he'd found on *love* in the   
computer—something the two humans were sharing, according to   
their and others' log entries. Kaar was doing them so much harm,   
taking so much that he wanted to give back something as well.   
Being a matchmaker wasn't what he'd intended to do aboard this   
ship in the first place, but to him it was harmless and a way to say   
he was sorry for the way of his people.  
Kaar's gaze kept wandering over the faces of the crowd   
who were watching him expectantly, some of them were shifting   
their weight from one foot to the other to vent their discomfort.   
The sun was scorching hot, not a single breeze was stirring the   
pennants. At least, the long awaited messenger from Saladin had   
brought them some news.  
It was high time something happened.  
Kaar produced a padd he'd hidden in his sleeve and cast a   
controlling glance at the display. The engineer who'd taken Harry   
Kim's place after the latter had become Harold the Voyager from   
Cymru was busy fiddling with the replicator programs again. The   
Hirogen didn't know what the Human had in mind, but it seemed as   
though his latest attempt in changing the food matrix had been   
successful. Not for a single moment did Kaar doubt that this was   
about freeing his fellow crew from the grip of the neural interface.  
A smile tugged at Kaar's thin reptile lips. Something was   
happening, at last. He wasn't going to stop the engineer. He was   
just proving once more that the Federations never gave up finding   
a solution. Sometimes you simply had to punch your way through.  
Kaar rose from his chair and prepared himself to make his   
long awaited announcements.  
  
=/\=  
  
Noëmie did anything she was told. The shock she'd   
experienced when witnessing Séverine's assassination was holding   
her innocent child's mind in a tight grip, so that the only way to   
escape the haunting pictures was retreating into a protecting shell.   
She still trusted, however, those people who meant her good.   
Catherine and Brigitte and Jean certainly were among them, but   
she couldn't tell them what she'd seen in the woods. It cost her   
enough strength to remain in reality as far as to do what she was   
told. Noëmie hadn't sacrificed her will for the sake of her sanity, it   
was just so much easier then. Besides, Brigitte meant her good, she   
wanted to help her, so why object?  
So she didn't turn a hair when the golden liquid Brigitte   
had given her to drink was running down her throat in a stream of   
burning heat. The pain wasn't uncomfortable, on the contrary, it   
distracted her. To the little girl's surprise the liquid left a strange   
velvety feeling on her tongue. She wondered why something that   
tasted so bad actually could turn her tongue into velvet, spread a   
warm feeling in her stomach and make her lightheaded. Noëmie   
couldn't remember a time when she'd felt better. She smiled at   
Brigitte who was looking worriedly at her. The woman was   
holding her tight in an embrace, as tight as possible. There was a   
baby inside her rounded belly, Brigitte had told her that months   
ago. She'd allowed her to touch her belly and feel the baby inside   
as often as she wanted. It always sent a funny feeling through her   
small body, a feeling that was almost as pleasant as the one the   
golden liquid evoked in her. The mixture of both was even better,   
and so she closed her eyes to enjoy the sleepiness that covered her   
with a warm blanket.  
Brigitte let out a sigh of relief when she recognized that   
sleep had found the little girl so quickly. She didn't know whether   
this was due to the cognac or anything else, she was just glad.   
Noëmie's small hand glided down her belly when her little body   
relaxed in her sleep, so Brigitte covered her hand with hers and let   
her child feel the warmth of their hands.  
She was still devastated from the news Père Goulot had   
brought them earlier this afternoon. The news had left her shell-  
shocked, because Séverine had been a difficult but dear friend to   
her. So she could only imagine how much pain was wracking   
Goulot right now. Séverine had always been the daughter he'd   
never had. Maybe this had been due to the fact that both of them   
had rather difficult characters, Brigitte didn't know. The only thing   
she knew was that nothing and no one would ever be able to ease   
his pain. If only she were able to show how passionate she was   
about his loss. This was more important to her than the fact that   
with Séverine's death her last chance to contact Bobby had also   
died. He would never get her letter, their relationship was finally   
and irretrievably over now. She hadn't put much hope in that letter   
of hers anyway, so why bother? Bobby wouldn't want a French girl   
with a Kraut's bastard as his wife.  
  
=/\=  
  
Davies had briefed his captain on the incident in the   
woods, and now was lying on the campbed in the tent he was   
sharing with three other men. The incident had left them with a lot   
of questions unanswered, which wasn't much to the liking of his   
captain. Why would the Nazis take the corpse of the Frenchwoman   
with them? Had she still been alive? Had it been planned as a   
means to get a spy of their own back behind their lines? No one   
knew for sure. Anyway, they had to consider each of these   
possibilities. Right now, their radio operator was encoding a   
message for Captain Miller who was with the local Résistance.  
Their next course of action was going to be sneaking into   
the German headquarters in Sainte Claire in order to look for any   
traces of this morning's events and blow the communications   
equipment. Sunday nights had proven to be quiet in Sainte Claire,   
even in the German headquarters, so it was a perfect point of time   
to do it. Plus Hauptmann Brückner would be out tonight, attending   
the welcome-back-party for *Maurice Leroux*. Wasn't it ironic   
that one of Catherine Leroux' friends—who was the singer of her   
nightclub on top of that—had been assassinated on a day like this?  
Wasn't it ironic that Davies was relieved that it had been   
Séverine deNeuf who had been the *victim* of the Nazis rather   
than his girlfriend? He had a bad conscience about this, especially   
toward Père Goulot. The old man had tried to hide his shock and   
his grief, but Davies knew nonetheless that the death of his   
daughter was devastating to him. He'd discovered that it had been   
Séverine rather than Brigitte, when Goulot had whispered her name   
under his breath again and again. Davies thought of the letter he'd   
still hidden in the pocket of his trousers, and which he'd intended to   
have the contact forward to Brigitte—if it hadn't been herself.  
Then he'd found the letter in the hand-cart, together with   
the messages for Allied High Command. For some strange reason,   
the Nazis hadn't been interested in the hand-cart at all. So what had   
been their motif? Had they just wanted to kill someone without any   
other reason than to quench their blood-thirst? What on Earth could   
make people that cruel?  
On the other hand, what—or rather who—made   
coincidences like these, made him find a letter from the woman he   
loved and to who he'd intended to forward a letter to as well? He   
didn't really want to know if he was sincere, he was just glad that it   
had happened like this. That and the important messages for the   
headquarters would have made his day if it hadn't been for   
Séverine's death. It left a bad after-taste lingering in his mouth.   
He'd known Séverine, even if not well, but it was enough to make   
him feel grief.  
Bobby Davies sat up and fished around under his campbed   
for his rucksack. Once he'd found it he produced his wallet. He   
flipped it open and Brigitte's beautiful smile greeted him. She was   
the most beautiful woman he'd ever met, the only woman who'd   
had the power to make him do what he'd done the past eight years.   
Long years. He loved simply everything about her face, the small   
nose, her vivacious dark eyes, her sensuous full lips. He even   
remembered her scent and the way it felt when he'd trace the   
peculiar but beautiful ridges on her forehead from her nose up to   
her hairline.  
He read her letter again and wished time were passing   
faster. He was aching for her so much. Tonight would be the first   
time they'd see each other again. If only there were a way he could   
let her know. Miller and he were to fulfill their mission in the Nazi   
headquarters, then the evening would be his. His friend Miller   
would certainly find a way, after all he still owed him after several   
games of pool he'd lost.  
  
To be continued ... 


	7. Resistance Is Futile

Disclaimer: see part 1  
  
Cœur de Lion  
By Katie  
  
Chapter 7  
Resistance Is Futile  
  
After everything had been settled about Séverine's   
death—they'd agreed that they tell everybody she'd   
disappeared, probably fled to Switzerland or the States—and   
the party they'd planned for this evening, Catherine and Frank   
allowed themselves the luxury of spending the rest of the   
afternoon together. It would be interrupted by Catherine's   
date with Reginald Smith only. Paul and Jean had promised   
to get everything settled, once they'd agreed that they had to   
do the grieving for Séverine later. Their biggest problem was   
not the answer to the question of whether Séverine had been a   
spy, for it was sure that she wasn't, but rather as to who   
would do the entertainment tonight.  
The people coming to the *Cœur de Lion* were   
spoiled by Catherine's attempt to make them forget about the   
war by having Séverine sing for them. She had been good,   
very good, and it was difficult to find decent replacement in   
peaceful times, but now it seemed almost impossible. Jean,   
however, who couldn't stand seeing Catherine—the true   
platonic love of his life—having the blues, had promised to   
find a replacement. Catherine didn't know as to how he was   
going to find someone in a small town like Sainte Claire, but   
something made her believe in him.  
"François," she sighed, having closed the door to her   
apartment behind her, shutting out all her problems, the   
Résistance, the war, everything. Since she was having big   
trouble pronouncing his name in English, she'd decided to   
call him by the French version of his name.  
Standing with the back to the door, she remembered   
him of two nights before, when she'd cried herself to sleep in   
her room. Frank saw in her eyes that she was so tired of all of   
this, that she even blamed herself for Séverine's death. He   
knew very well that he couldn't take the responsibility off her   
petite shoulders, but at least he could share her burden. And   
he could give her the comfort she needed so much. So he   
gathered her in a tight embrace.  
Catherine returned it immediately with a force he'd   
never thought her being capable of. The nails of her fingers   
dug into the flesh of his shoulders and she pressed her body   
hard against his. Her breath was warm against the skin of his   
neck. He buried his nose in her hair, taking in the scent of the   
lake and the forest that was still lingering in her soft auburn   
waves. The caress of her lips on his neck sent a shiver down   
his spine.  
"Why, au nom de Dieu, why?" he heard her muffled   
voice. He kissed the top of her head and caressed her cheek   
with the backs of his fingers. He wasn't going to give her an   
answer to something he didn't know either. Instead, he   
hugged her even tighter, trying to ease away the shivers of   
pain that were shaking her body.  
"Non, chouchou. Let's leave the world outside for   
now," he murmured between two kisses. "There'll be just you   
and me until tonight, d'accord?"  
Catherine broke the hug and took a step backwards.   
She hadn't cried, maybe her all tears had been shed nights   
ago. The ghost of a smile flashed across her face. "After all,   
there's always tomorrow."  
A surprised laugh escaped Frank. This woman was   
simply incredible. "You know that movie?"  
"Bien sûr," she said in mock indignation. "*Autant en   
Emporte le Vent* is my favorite film. I saw it in Marseilles.   
I'd rather I'd seen it in Paris, but the Nazis had already been   
occupying the city when it premiered."  
They smiled at each other for a second or so before   
she continued: "How come you know that film? I mean a   
man like you?"  
This elicited another laugh from him. Bon Dieu, how   
she loved his dimples and the way his dark eyes were   
sparkling when he laughed. She could have kissed each of the   
tiny wrinkles around them right away. "I went to see it with   
my fiancée."  
"Oh," Catherine made, not because of jealousy, rather   
because of embarrassment. She could have figured that. He   
saved her. "She dragged me there by the sleeve. I mean, I   
liked the film, it's always amazing to watch a color movie. I   
especially liked this *After-all-there's-still-tomorrow*   
sentence."  
"You didn't like Vivien Leigh?" Catherine had   
regained her wits.  
"Yes," he said in a drawling way. "But she isn't the   
woman of my dreams."  
"Oh," Catherine made, rising an eyebrow, pouting her   
mouth in a way Scarlett O'Hara would.  
"You are the woman of my dreams," he said instead,   
stealing a kiss from her lips. The little kiss soon changed into   
a new embrace and a long passionate kiss. "Je t'aime,"   
Catherine murmured when they parted again to catch their   
breath.  
"I love you too," Frank answered in his mother   
tongue. He was about to steal another kiss from her lips when   
she touched her fingers to his lips and pushed him gently   
away.   
"You wouldn't mind if I took a quick shower, would   
you?" she asked.  
"Frankly my dear," he replied smiling, "not if I can   
join you."  
"I don't think so, I'm afraid. I'll need a few minutes for   
myself."  
"All right, honey," he kissed her on the forehead.   
With that, she disappeared into the bathroom.  
  
=/\=  
  
When Catherine hadn't returned from the bathroom   
half an hour later, Frank went looking for her. Her date with   
Reginald Smith was due in five minutes. She hadn't locked   
the bathroom door, so when he pushed it open, he found her   
sitting on the edge of the bathtub, barely covered in her   
towel. She was staring at no point in particular, rubbing her   
left thigh absentmindedly with the towel. Her skin was   
already bright red.  
He caught her gently by her wrist, and woke her from   
her reverie. "Catherine?"  
"Wha ... oh, I'm so sorry, François. I must've lost track   
of time," she apologized. Then she realized she was sitting   
there almost naked, and quickly tried to cover herself with the   
towel.   
Frank smiled. They'd made love as passionately as if   
their lives depended on it, and now she was sitting here in   
front of him, trying to cover her beautiful naked body.   
"Catherine, it's me, you don't have to be shy with me around."  
She smiled. "Frank, my dear, tu as raison. I'm just ...   
this is so ... I don't know," she struggled for words. She cast   
him a helpless glance.  
"I know, chouchou, I know," Frank nodded. "I hate to   
say this, but Reginald Smith isn't going to wait for you."  
"Are you jealous?" she teased, wrapping the towel   
around her body. She didn't like moving around in her   
apartment in her birthday suit. This had nothing to do with   
Frank's being here, it was just that she didn't like being   
caught that vulnerable. Besides, she owned a nightclub, but   
that didn't mean she didn't have a sense of modesty,   
particularly when living in a small town like Sainte Claire.  
Instead of an answer he kissed her mocking smile.   
"Come on now." He held out her robe for her. The radio was   
standing downstairs in the nightclub, and she couldn't   
possibly go there dressed in nothing but a towel.  
"I'll be back in a minute. Don't go away!" She   
struggled with the sleeves of her bathrobe and never troubled   
herself with putting on shoes. Frank listened to her bare feet   
padding the wooden stairs, then he closed the door.  
Catherine came back only five minutes later. "Frank,   
are you there?" she called, studying the note she was holding.   
He wasn't going to like this.  
His voice answered from the direction of her   
bedroom. "No, I left an hour ago!" Catherine smiled and   
shook her head. He was a guignol, but she had to admit that   
she'd never seen a clown with dimples like his.  
She found him lying on her bed, still dressed—well,   
she was going to change this soon—with his eyes closed. She   
tickled his nose with one edge of the note. With a quick   
movement he grabbed it, sat up and read through it. When he   
looked at her face he already knew what she was going to tell   
him. The determination made her eyes sparkle. If she was   
preparing herself for a fight about this, he would disappoint   
her. He didn't want to argue with her right now, more so that   
he knew it would be pointless anyway.   
"You're going to blow the Nazis' communications   
equipment, aren't you," he stated matter-of-factly. This took   
her off guard, she hadn't expected that reaction from him.  
"You will let me go then?" she asked in disbelief.  
"How could I not? You know their place, I will be the   
person of interest tonight so I can hardly sneak away for an   
hour or so," he pointed out. Catherine had sat down on the   
edge of the bed and looked at him, her right hand resting on   
his chest. The smile she was smiling now made her even   
more beautiful.  
"You'll just have to promise me something." He   
wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her over him   
and turned her so she was lying next to him on the bed. This   
had elicited a short cry of surprise from her. He bent over her   
and looked at her seriously. "I want you to be careful. I don't   
want anything to happen to you, I don't want to lose you,   
because you're the dearest one I have in this world."  
She cupped his face with her hands and pulled his   
face towards hers. "I promise, love." Then they kissed each   
other with a hunger and passion that everything around them   
was forgotten. Just like the night before at the lake everything   
that mattered was each other's body. Bit by bit they undressed   
each other, discovering their bodies again, exploring with   
their hands and lips and tongues.   
Frank found that the lesson an old Chinese man had   
taught him back in the States was true. With his tongue he   
caressed Catherine's palate while dancing with her tongue   
until he felt the shivers of orgasm rock her body under his.   
According to old Chinese teachings there was some kind of   
energy channel connecting the mouth with the sex of a   
woman so that if she was kissed the right way a man could   
take her over the edge.  
Frank watched her lust-drawn face. He loved the way   
she opened her mouth to let low moans escape from between   
her lips, and the way she half-closed her eyes. He was   
combing through the still wet strands of her auburn hair with   
one hand. When he felt her body relax, he slowly kissed his   
way down her breasts and belly to her navel, where he stayed   
longer than she wanted him to. He let his tongue dart into the   
indentation of her navel, tickled her with it. Her hands were   
in his hair, attempting to guide his head to the most aching   
part of her body, but he wouldn't let her. Instead, he held her   
by her writhing hips and continued his teasing.  
"François, s'il te plaît, I can't ... please," he heard her   
beg in a low husky voice. However, he didn't pay any   
attention to her begging, but kept exploring her. Eventually,   
he followed the line from her navel to the edge of the auburn   
curls between her legs. He smiled when he discovered a tiny   
freckle just a little beneath her hairline and kissed it gently.   
She had a freckle like this beneath her left ear as well, and   
she loved being kissed there.  
Frank deeply inhaled the mixture of the lavender soap   
and her own scent. Without warning her, he let his tongue   
wander and explore where she wanted it most. Just like the   
day before it took barely any caresses until Catherine was   
taken over the edge once more. Frank covered her mouth   
with his when she screamed her joy out loud, catching her   
lips in another passionate kiss. Catherine could taste herself   
in his mouth, a taste like salted grapefruit.  
When she opened her eyes again she was still   
lightheaded and somewhat dizzy, a mighty torrent was   
rushing in her ears. "François, what are you doing to me?"   
she asked him, tracing the lines of his smiling face. "Please   
don't hold yourself back any longer. I don't want to be the   
only one who enjoys this."  
"But I am enjoying this, love," he replied and kissed   
her. Before he knew what was happening, though, she was   
cradling his hips between her legs and had guided him into   
her. She smiled briefly as his eyes went wide in surprise at   
this. A moan of pleasure escaped her when she felt him   
filling her completely again. Frank didn't move, he too   
wanted to savor this feeling of oneness of their bodies and   
minds. They were looking into each other's eyes, seeing the   
deep love reflected in dark brown and deep blue eyes, saw   
the shining in their eyes. Catherine couldn't take it longer   
then. She put an end to their silence with a deep kiss and a   
soft rocking of her hips against her lover's.  
As always, it was over much too soon, but on the   
other hand there was nothing like the afterglow. The two of   
them were lying with their limbs tangled, their bodies   
covered in a pearly sheen of perspiration, exchanging kisses   
and caresses before they dozed off.  
  
=/\=  
  
Ysakc was on his way from Sickbay to the office of   
his commandant. He wondered what Kaar wanted from him   
now. Anyway, it was a nice distraction from the monotony of   
the past few days. Ever since Kaar had ordered their people   
to stand down there had been nothing for him to do as a   
doctor. The only exception to this had been Seven of Nine,   
but he hadn't been much of a help to the Federations' doctor   
because this woman was very special. She once had been a   
Borg, a race the Hirogen had not encountered yet. From what   
the Doctor had told him, this race was half organic, half   
mechanic and they assimilated whatever interesting species   
whose path they crossed. According to the doctor's reports,   
the Federations had had fierce fights with the Borg, not only   
at the place they came from—Earth or Terra they called their   
planet—but also here in what they'd named the Delta   
Quadrant. Somehow they'd managed to get this woman back   
from them and re-assimilate her to become a human once   
again.  
This had been interesting in regard to what kind of   
technology they'd used to accomplish this goal. Ysakc asked   
himself how far they would have come in their own research   
if they hadn't spent whatever energy and resources were at   
their hands on weapons. If they spent more on research, they   
probably could reach a standard in their medical possibilities   
equal to the Federations'. But who was he to propose   
something like this to Kaar?  
"Ah, there you are, Ysakc," Kaar greeted him, after   
he'd entered his office.  
"Kaar." Ysakc nodded curtly at his commandant.  
"Has Sarpa told you to turn off the neural interface of   
Naomi Wildman?" Kaar asked without further ado.  
Ysakc didn't hesitate to tell him that no, he hadn't.   
Kaar didn't say anything. Knowing him for most of his life,   
Ysakc knew that this didn't mean any good. But he also knew   
that it wasn't his fault, and that Kaar's wrath was aimed at   
Sarpa. Kaar watched the stars outside for a while, then he   
turned back at him and said as if nothing had happend: "Then   
I'll tell you. Please turn off Naomi Wildman's neural   
interface."  
"But how do I get her out of the holodeck? I can't   
have her hunted down by Sarpa's men," Ysakc wondered   
aloud. He was immediately sorry for this, for it betrayed the   
cool façade of the devoted Hunter of what he really thought   
about the Hirogen's ways. This slip of tongue could cost him   
his life, having made it in presence of his leader. The younger   
man froze, barely dared to take a breath. But to his surprise   
he found amazement sparkling in his leader's small black   
eyes. What was going on? Did he get this right, did Kaar   
approve of his opinion, or was he just a good actor, trying to   
lull him into a false sense of security?  
"Of course not." Kaar's voice sounded genuine. "I   
wonder why Sarpa has taken her to the holodecks at all. No,   
leave her on the holodeck. I'd like to know how the   
Federations--and most of all the girl--react when they notice   
that she's somehow different from them."  
Ysakc couldn't have been more surprised. This was   
exactly what had flashed through his mind only seconds   
earlier. How was the girl going to adapt to this? Would the   
others deem her insane? Those were questions though, he'd   
never dared to ask, he had even hesitated to let them enter his   
mind. "Sir, if you'd want me to, I'd gladly re-configure her   
neural interface so we get readings of her bodily functions—  
brain-waves, frequence of her heartbeat—anything that might   
get us information on this."  
Kaar nodded. "Do it. Dismissed."  
Ysakc held his breath. Was that all? Hesitant, he   
turned and made for the door, when suddenly Kaar called him   
back. "You certainly have interesting ideas, Ysakc. Promise   
me to keep to this track. It's the right one. Go now."  
  
=/\=  
  
They'd fallen into a blissful slumber after their   
lovemaking, cuddled closely together in spoon-fashion. As   
Catherine woke now, she found that somehow they'd   
managed to wriggle the sheets from under the bedspread and   
had wrapped it around their tangled bodies. The day had been   
hot again, but thanks to the shutters that were always closed,   
Catherine's bedroom was comfortably cool all day.  
She turned in Frank's embrace and buried her face in   
the soft crook of his neck, nuzzling his bronze skin with the   
tip of her nose. Frank had shifted his body, too, and adapted   
to their new position, but still he pretended to be asleep. He   
wasn't a very good actor though, for he drew his fingers in   
idle patterns over the skin of her back and shoulders.  
"François?" she whispered softly.  
"Hm ..." came his grunted reply.  
"Please tell me a story."  
Although she couldn't see his face, she knew that his   
eyes fluttered open immediately at this. He shifted under her,   
so she withdrew a few centimeters and propped her head up   
so she could see the sparkles in his eyes in the dimly lit room.   
The late afternoon sun filtered in through the slats of the   
shutters and drew red-golden stripes on their bodies and the   
white linen of her blanket. Tiny particles of dust were   
dancing in the stripes this beautiful illumination drew into the   
air. The crickets living in the oak and maple trees outside   
were chirping again, for it wasn't so hot any more. For a   
moment, they listened to the people outside, as their heels   
clicked on the cobblestone square and the wheels of their   
bikes and hand-carts clattered over it. An automobile halted   
on the opposite side of the square, and the motor was turned   
off.  
"I'm not a good storyteller, you know," he tried to get   
off the hook.  
Catherine quieted him with a tender kiss on his lips. "I   
tell you, Monsieur, after you've told me a story. S'il te plaît,"   
she added with a pleading look in her eyes.  
"How can I resist such a woman," Frank murmured in   
English, emphasizing it with a mock sigh.  
Catherine grinned. "Resistance is futile!" she   
answered with a low laugh and kissed him passionately on   
his open mouth. A stifled protest of his found its way into her   
mouth and lulled her tongue. When they separated again,   
both of them were laughing.  
"You tell me a story first, chouchou," Frank said after   
he'd caught his breath. His lips felt bright red and as if they   
were on fire. That Frenchwoman certainly could kiss. She   
looked at him expectantly.  
"How come you speak English that well?"  
"Once upon a time there was an eighteen-year-old girl   
who got to know an English family. The family was in   
France on their vacation, and they lived in the house of the   
girl's family. They liked the girl very much, so that they   
invited her to spend a year with them in their country. The   
girl agreed and so she went to live with the family and   
learned their language," Catherine told him. "It's almost the   
same as your story about learning French."  
Frank nodded. "Now it's your turn," the   
Frenchwoman insisted. Again, he let out a sigh of mock   
annoyance. "What story could I possibly tell you?"  
"What about ...," she thought aloud, scrutinizing him   
while caressing the smooth skin of his chest. Her fingers   
wandered up his neck and jaw, brushed his bruised lips,   
followed the outline of his nose and caressed the softness of   
his eyebrows until they finally came to rest on the deep blue   
lines of the strange tattoo he wore on his left temple. "What   
about these lines. Is there any meaning to them?"  
"Many people think they represent a bird in an   
abstract way," Frank began his story. "They're called   
*moko*. Only the Maori warriors are allowed to wear them. I   
think they're meant to endow the warriors with strength and   
to encourage and protect them."  
Catherine stopped caressing him. She'd withdrawn   
her fingers from the blue lines of the moko. Even though a   
Christian, she respected pagan beliefs as well, and so she   
didn't want to incense whatever Gods gave the line their   
power. "Who are the Ma ..." She didn't manage to pronounce   
the word. She'd never heard this strange name before.  
"The Maori," Frank offered. "They are the natives of   
New Zealand."  
"My, that's far away!" Catherine gasped. She didn't   
know exactly where New Zealand was, somewhere near   
Australia she guessed—if the little knowledge of geography   
she'd acquired at school didn't abandon her. "You've been   
there?"  
"Oui."  
"Oh come on! Tell me!" With this, she kissed the tip   
of his nose. Frank was a little bit faster though, and managed   
once again to catch her in an open-mouthed kiss.  
"That's a long story, I'm not sure you really want to   
hear it." He tried to get away with this although he knew that   
it was already too late. He knew woman's curiosity, so he had   
to admit that he'd already gone too far as to get away with   
this cheap excuse. But you never knew, sometimes there was   
always tomorrow for the story to be told.  
This time, there was no tomorrow. Catherine insisted   
on hearing it now. Sighing, he gave in and was about to tell   
her his story, when they were interrupted by somebody   
banging on their front door. Catherine's elbow gave way and   
with a loud annoyed groan she let herself collapse onto the   
bed. Why did people always have to interrupt her when it was   
most unsuitable?  
Frank's hand went searching for his watch on the   
nightstand. He held the watch in a way it caught the light of   
one of the glowing dust-stripes, so he could check the time.   
They were almost late for the beginning of the party.   
"Catherine, ma chère, you should go and answer the door.   
We'll have to get up now anyway, we've almost overslept."  
Again, Catherine sighed and closed her eyes. Why   
couldn't people leave them alone, just for once? Oh, that   
damn ... She put her hands on her forehead as if to rub her   
drowsiness away. Then, with a surprising leap she got out of   
the bed, throwing the sheets away so Frank lay exposed to his   
knees in the rather chill air of the room. He watched her   
struggle with her bathrobe, admired her beautiful strong body   
and the golden highlights the dusty sunbeams caught in her   
disheveled auburn hair.  
"You are so beautiful, do you know that?" he blurted.   
Instead of an answer, she just kissed him lightly on the   
forehead, said: "Now I do. Get ready, love." With that, she   
tied the strings of her robe into a tight knot and disappeared   
from her bedroom.  
Frank lay back in the bed and closed his eyes. What   
had he done to deserve a woman like her?  
  
To be continued ... 


	8. Fighting Grendel

Disclaimer: see part 1  
  
Cœur de Lion   
By Katie  
  
Chapter 8  
Fighting Grendel  
  
=/\=  
  
On his way back to his tent where his friends were   
already awaiting him, Harold couldn't stop wondering why   
the King had invited him for the celebrations that were to   
take place this evening. One of the King's falconers, he was   
one of the men closest to His Majesty, but there were   
certainly more important people in the entourage who   
deserved this honor. But the young knight wasn't one who   
looked a gift horse in the mouth, and so he had accepted the   
invitation. It would have been extremely unwise to decline a   
powerful man, especially if he bore the name of Richard   
Cœur-de-Lion.  
But being a powerful man didn't mean that Richard   
could simply walk into the city of Acre and declare it   
conquered, especially after all the troubles the Crusaders had   
already faced. First of all, Emperor Frederick Barabrossa had   
drowned taking a bath in the river Saleph, leaving his son   
Frederick of Swabia in charge of the Franconian army.   
Richard and Philip II Augustus were to meet the Franconians   
in Acre, but since their new leader had died as well, there   
were only a few knights left, so that the French and English   
armies could hardly be called *reinforcements*. To top it all,   
Queen Sybil of Jerusalem had died, leaving the throne vacant.   
The Crusaders' luck had turned though, when Richard had   
caught 1,500 Saracens who had been sent as reinforcement to   
Acre. Richard and Philip laid Acre under siege, but often one   
didn't know who was besieger and who was besieged. After   
both Kings had recovered from a serious disease that had   
killed quite a few of the knights, the Christian warriors   
managed to conquer the Saracen city, even with Saladin's   
troops attacking them—especially their rearguard—with   
Greek fire and burning some of the French catapults.  
Despite all these troubles, they had a reason for   
celebrations, which were going to start this night. The   
Sultan's mediators had agreed to start talks with the Knights   
of St. John of Jerusalem, and initial talks had proved very   
positive for the Crusaders in terms of setting free captives,   
money, and the returning of the Cross. Richard was already   
planning to move into the castle of the Templars, a little   
prematurely, as some of his entourage thought.   
But that didn't matter tonight. There would be lots of   
drink and food, and Gaucelm Faidit, the most celebrated   
troubadour of their time, had promised to tell them a story.   
Women would be there as well, of course. This was what was   
troubling Harold so much. Lady Séverine was a desirable   
woman, and the fact that she was a widow and lived in a   
nunnery as a beguine didn't protect her from the desire of the   
knights. She was demure and unassuming and crimsoned at   
the men's ribald behavior towards her, but this didn't mean   
that she would turn any of them down. Somewhere deep   
within him Harold hoped that she would accept his invitation   
to accompany him to the celebrations with the King. Not only   
would he know her save with him, but he also hoped that   
maybe the Lady recognized his affection for her and might   
even return it.  
But this was wishful thinking. He would be happy   
enough if she accepted his invention.   
When he arrived at his camp, Lady Séverine had just   
finished her tending to Sir Roger's wound and was about to   
return to the women's part of the camp. Having kneeled in the   
sand next to the knight, she got up at Harold's sight maybe   
just a little too fast. Her knees were wobbly and her head   
swam, so she was glad that the Voyager of Cymru caught her   
in his arms. For the blink of an eye the bright sunlight   
disappeared and was replaced by darkness.   
Still somewhat dizzy, Seven regained her composure.   
When she opened her eyes, she looked directly into the eyes   
of Harry Kim. Even before she could analyze the situation,   
she remembered the Emergency Medical Hologram of having   
informed her on what was going on. His plans were   
obviously working. It would certainly be only a matter of   
seconds before the neural interface implanted in the Ensign   
would be fully assimilated by the nanoprobes as well.  
"Lady Séverine! Are you all right?" Harry Kim's alter   
ego asked in concern.  
Although not overly familiar with the situation, Seven   
decided to play the game according to the rules. Their ship   
and crew were at stake after all. If it hadn't been for them,   
Seven would have never agreed to this. She didn't see the   
point in her crewmates' engagement in holographic   
entertainment. "I am fine, Sir, thank you. Maybe I just got up   
a little too fast." She gave him the most reasonable   
explanation.  
The young man didn't react. He just kept staring at   
her. Sir Roger, who had watched the scene, found confusion   
in his friend's eyes, then suddenly surprise which quickly   
changed into realization. Then the strange display of feelings   
disappeared from the Welshman's face as if nothing had ever   
happened.  
"Sir, are you all right?" Lady Séverine asked in   
concern.  
Harold hesitated for the blink of an eye, then he   
smiled self-consciously and nodded. "Yes, thank you. Maybe   
I should drink something and rest in the shade."  
"Are you sure there's nothing more to it, old friend?"   
Roger asked him with a twinkle in his eyes. His friend   
couldn't possibly think he hadn't recognized what was going   
on between the Lady and him. Roger smiled. He'd always   
deemed Harold far too young as to participate in an enterprise   
like a crusade. But who knew? Maybe the Welshman had to   
do this to restore his family's honor, maybe he'd vowed to   
follow the crusaders. If the two of them had found each other   
the crusade had at least had some good in it for them.  
"Friend," Roger said when he recognized Harold   
crimson, "don't even bother about an injured man's silly   
words."  
"Did I?" Harold asked, his voice breaking with self-  
consciousness.  
Instead of an answer, Roger and the others just   
laughed. Harry felt himself being tugged at his sleeve. It was   
Seven, gesturing to follow him into the tent.  
After they had closed the tarpaulin behind them, they   
found themselves staring at each other in the dim light of the   
tent. The air was uncomfortably close and hot. Harry was   
glad that at night the temperature in here would drop.   
Otherwise he couldn't imagine finding sleep in here.   
Although the tent looked spacious from the outside, it   
actually was crammed with two knights' equipment, their   
beds and what else they needed. He went to his chest on   
which there was a jug and several mugs. He poured them   
some water and offered Seven one of the mugs.  
"At least the Doctor's plan is working," he commented   
after he'd downed the cool liquid in one long gulp.  
"Yes, but I never doubted that," Seven stated matter-  
of-factly. "Now we have to see that our part of the plan work   
as well. Have you any suggestions as to our further   
proceedings? I take it that from your tour through the camp   
you know where to begin."  
"King Richard—or rather the Hirogen captain—  
invited me to the celebration of the peace treaty. I'll take you   
with me, just to make sure those drunkards out there won't   
harm you. The Hirogen are no fools. I take it that Kaar had   
his tent projected at exactly the place where the main   
holographic controls are. I'm hoping we can get there some   
time tonight," he quickly explained.  
"We will require tools. Where do we get them?"   
Seven wanted to know. Just then her eyes went wide. Harry   
looked at her in concern, he almost expected her neural   
interface to fail. But Seven held up a hand and quieted him   
before he could say an single word. "I am receiving a   
transmission from the Doctor on a bugproof channel," she   
explained.  
Harry's face brightened. Sure, the Doctor was using   
the same bugproof channel he'd used when Alzen and his   
people had used the crew for their methods of scientific   
research. Somehow he had the strange feeling as if their   
imprisonment on their own ship was going to come to an end   
soon.  
"Seven, can you hear me?" the Doctor's voice asked   
inside the former Borg's head. He waited for Seven to   
confirm, then he went on. "Listen, the controls for the   
security protocols are hidden in the cedar chest in King   
Richard's smaller tent. The chest opens to the front, you'll   
find the tools there. Is there any chance for you to get there   
without causing too much suspicion?"  
Harry heard only what Seven told the Doc, but from   
her answer he took it that he'd just told her where to find the   
controls and tools. "Yes, Doctor. There will be a celebration   
in about two hours. Then we will be able to get there."  
"Very well, Seven. I've already communicated with   
Ensign Wildman. She can turn on the protocols at any time.   
I'll let the three of you know when to get them back online.   
Doctor out."  
Seven quickly briefed Harry on what the Emergency   
Medical Hologram had just told her. Just like Harry had   
supposed, had the Doctor implanted a communications   
device under the skin behind her ear so that he was able to   
talk with Sam whenever possible without danger of being   
discovered by anybody. The only problem was that Sam or   
Seven had to find a quiet place where they would not be   
detected.  
"So, I guess the only thing we can do now is wait for   
the right time," Harry smiled nervously.  
"I would say so, yes," Seven replied.  
  
=/\=  
  
Since the *Cœur de Lion* was still closed, Catherine   
could go there dressed in her bathrobe only. Paul cast her a   
startled glance and Jean smiled at her, but she did as if she   
hadn't noticed this. She knew very well that Paul didn't   
approve of her affair with the American, but now wasn't the   
right time to discuss this. They'd still things to get settled   
before the party tonight. She'd talk to him as soon as possible   
though, for the African was very dear and close to her. But   
this would have to wait.  
"Catherine," Jean greeted her cheerfully.  
"Well? I see you're already back from wherever you   
went to look for a replacement of Séverine," she stated,   
taking a glass from the shelf behind the counter. Paul handed   
her a bottle with a golden brown liquid so she could pour   
herself some of the liquor. To his great surprise, she threw   
her package of cigarettes and matches away once she'd   
scrutinized the things. What was that American doing to her   
that she'd give up smoking all of a sudden? Instead of   
lighting a cigarette, she downed the liquor in one gulp. Paul   
raised one of his eyebrows.  
"Oh, very well," Jean said, giving at the knees in his   
contentment with himself.  
"And?"  
"May I present!" he announced, pointing at the   
opening door that lead to the restroom. Out came a young   
woman with shoulder-length blond hair that needed washing,   
dressed in an old men's pullover and baggy trousers. "This is   
Signorina Sabina from Italy!"  
taking a sip from the already empty glass was all   
Catherine could do to avoid her jaw from dropping. Where on   
Earth had Jean found that woman? He couldn't possibly be   
serious. What the *Cœur de Lion* needed was a singer, not a   
tramp.  
Jean had recognized her surprise at once, so before   
she could even think of something decent to say, he went on:   
"She may not look like a nightingale now, but just let her take   
a bath and give her some of Séverine's clothes and you'll see   
..."  
This time it was Catherine who cut him short. "That's   
all very well, but we need a singer, not a doll! No offense,   
Mademoiselle." She said with an apologizing glance at her.  
"Why don't you wait until you hear her sing?" the chef   
muttered in disappointment about her reaction. He'd managed   
the near impossible—namely finding a singer in this small   
occupied town—and all he was rewarded with was this? And   
what should the Signorina think of him?  
"Go ahead then, au nom de Dieu," Catherine waved at   
the blond woman in annoyance.   
"Ehm ... cantare, Signorina, sing?" Jean translated for   
the Italian woman.  
  
=/\=  
  
Bobby had never in his life felt as nervous as he was   
doing now. Sitting on his bed with a bowl with some   
unidentifiable stew in it, he studied his comrade's bed as if   
there'd never been something as interesting as a plain gray   
scratchy blanket. In two hours he'd have to report to Miller   
and get ready for their mission in the Nazi Headquarters in   
Sainte Claire. The action would without doubt provoke heavy   
fighting, and hopefully they'd win the fighting without too   
many casualties.   
The prospect of getting wounded or even killed had   
never before been as present and as clear in his mind as it was   
now. When he'd joined the armed forces he'd done it because   
of his thirst of adventure and his longing for Brigitte. Then   
he'd never wasted a thought on the possibility that he might   
never live to meet her again. Now her realized that he'd   
suppressed this thought.   
He wasn't being a coward now, he'd fulfill this   
mission. It just made him realize that before he could do so,   
he'd have to do something else first. He put the bowl on the   
ground next to his feet—he wasn't going to eat more tonight   
anyway. The few spoons he'd managed to gulp had left an   
unpleasant taste on his tongue. This was the first time in his   
life that his tongue rather than his stomach had decided that   
he was full. What the hell had that cookhouse wallah been   
thinking when he'd made this disgusting concoction? Maybe   
he'd get something to eat at the *Cœur de Lion* later.  
From his left breast pocket he produced a bundle of   
black cloth that was tied with a plain gray string of wool.   
Inside the bundle he knew to be his fiancée's-to-be ring, a   
simple silver band with a tiny diamond embedded in it. On   
the inside of the ring he'd had the goldsmith of his hometown   
engrave the words "In Love Bobby". He took the ring out of   
it's pouch every now and then, as if it made it easier for him   
to think of his beloved, which was nonsense of course, since   
she hadn't left his thoughts once ever since his train had   
pulled out of Sainte Claire eight years ago. It had never come   
to his mind that she might have found another man and had   
even married him until he'd found her letter. He almost hadn't   
dared to open it, for fear he'd read that the only thing really   
meaning something in his life had been lost for him forever.   
Instead Brigitte had told him that she was longing as   
much for him as he for her, but of course she didn't know that   
he was feeling this way. She was having the same doubts   
about this as him, only she didn't know that he still loved her.   
So she'd chosen her words very carefully. A smile stole on   
his lips as he imagined Brigitte brooding over the letter,   
looking for the right words. She'd never been one to be very   
diplomatic, so he could very well imagine her eyebrows   
drawn together in concentration, her beautiful full lips   
pressed tightly together, and her knuckles white from holding   
the pen too tensely.   
This day had been one of the most happy he'd had in a   
long time. He could have hugged the entire world at this.   
Now the time seemed to pass as slowly as a snail, he could   
hardly wait to get to town, fulfill his mission with the leader   
of the Résistance, and then look for Brigitte.  
If only time had mercy with him.  
  
=/\=  
  
Jean's Signorina Sabina from Italy turned out to be a   
good singer. She wasn't as good as Séverine had been—they   
had gotten spoiled by her. However, Catherine was more than   
happy to give her an engagement. Especially after she'd sent   
her to Séverine's apartment together with Brigitte to take a   
hot bath and get something to dress. Time was pressing now,   
the party would begin soon.  
Brigitte had of course brought Noëmie with her, she   
couldn't possibly leave the little girl alone back in her   
apartment, not in that state of shock she was in. When   
Catherine had seen what the little girl looked like, her heart   
had skipped a beat. The girl's face was still ashen, and her   
beautiful eyes had lost their lively sparkling. Brigitte had left   
her in her favorite spot near the fireplace, a bench for two that   
had been built between the fireplace and the bar. There she   
remained sitting, staring at the dark wooden tiles as she'd   
done hours before, clutching her rag-doll tightly to her small   
body. Catherine knew it was pointless to lure her out of her   
shell with a piece of candy, the shock had been to hard on   
her. So she only caressed the girl's pale cheek and wished she   
could do more. Both as a woman and a leader of the   
Résistance she loathed this kind of powerlessness.  
"Catherine?"  
The Madame turned at Brigitte's voice, her left hand   
remaining on Noëmie's bare arm. Just in time so she didn't   
notice the sparkles that suddenly lighted the girl's dull eyes.   
To an observer it would have seemed as though somebody   
had switched on a mechanical doll, only that this doll's mind   
rather than its limbs woke from its protecting slumber,. Her   
eyes stared at the same direction as the woman who was   
holding her gently by her arm.  
Next to the frightening woman from Engineering—  
whose belly was suddenly very fat—was standing her   
mother! She looked funny with all that curls in her beautiful   
hair, and the colors in her face, but she sure looked very   
beautiful, too, in her long black dress. Her mother was there,   
and everything was going to be all right now.  
Naomi was clever enough to recognize her strange   
surroundings as a holographic projection, she loved being in   
the Holodeck. Her mother took her there often to teach her all   
kinds of interesting—and sometimes boring—things. A smile   
flashed across her face, and she let out a soft giggle.   
Whatever scenario this was, it had to be fun.  
This must have been the wrong thing to do, for the   
three adults looked at her very puzzled. The woman holding   
her arm turned back at her. It was the Captain! Naomi's smile   
faded as quickly as it had come into her face. If the Captain   
was holding her by the arm, she sure must be in trouble. The   
trouble was she didn't know what she'd done now, but it must   
have been something very naughty if the Captain held her—  
particularly when she was dressed in a very thin bathrobe   
only.  
"Noëmie!" the Captain said in surprise. Why did she   
call her that? Her name was Naomi, not that what she'd called   
her. To her great shock, the fat engineer was at her side as   
quickly as she could, and she, too, called her by that strange   
name.  
"Are you all right, ma petite?" she asked her.  
Naomi looked at her with the same puzzlement. Of   
course was she all right. Then it dawned on her. They were   
playing a game of some sort, the adults loved to do that on   
the holodecks. They'd create some ancient rooms and act as if   
they belonged there, ignoring who they really were as long as   
their holodeck-credits weren't up. Naomi had rather they   
stopped this now, she was tired, but she didn't want to be a   
spoilsport either.  
"Yes," she said because of this. So she wasn't in so   
much trouble after all. The only thing that was still strange   
was that Momma was running this simulation together with   
the captain and *that* woman. She'd never done this before.  
Before she could even think another straight thought,   
the captain had pulled her into her arms and was hugging her   
tightly. She'd never done this before! She looked at her   
mother—who nodded to her as an encouragement to hug the   
captain back!  
And then the engineer-woman stroked her hair. This   
was too much for confused little Naomi.  
"Momma!"  
  
=/\=  
  
"You!"  
Joe Carey almost drove the 24th century equivalent of   
a screwdriver into the palm of his left hand as he started at   
the roaring voice behind him. He turned around, and from his   
crouching position in front of an open access panel of the   
replicator the Hirogen towering over him seemed almost   
twice as tall as usual.  
"Sir?" Carey hated it to address the Hirogen by this   
title. But he couldn't think of anything better, and besides it   
spared him further problems. He couldn't be much of an   
assistance to the Doctor if he landed in his sickbay to get   
patched up. There had been times when it was hard for him to   
control his Irish temper, but just like Lieutenant Torres he'd   
learned to pull himself together. The Academy had helped   
him at it, whereas the same way had failed with the half-  
Klingon engineer.  
"Get up," the Hirogen said, maKing an upward   
movement with the muzzle of his rifle. Those things probably   
looked heavier than they were—or they were and the Hirogen   
had strong muscles in their armored arms—, but there was no   
doubt about their lethality. So Joe obeyed.  
"What are you doing there?" he demanded.  
"The voice control of this replicator was off-line. I've   
fixed it now. May I close the access panel?" Joe answered   
matter-of-factly, without a trace of hesitance in his voice. The   
voice control had really been broken, and for obvious reasons   
he'd been glad for it.  
The Hirogen's small reptile eyes narrowed for a few   
seconds, one could easily see what thoughts were discussing   
his reaction behind his armadillo brow. He carefully studied   
the Federation's even face. Although the Hirogen didn't know   
much about human body language, it appeared to him that   
this red-haired man didn't have a hidden agenda. He'd obeyed   
the orders given to him so far. "You may."  
  
To be continued ... 


	9. Ladies Lionheart

Disclaimer: see part 1  
  
Cœur de Lion  
by Katie  
  
Chapter 9  
Ladies Lionheart  
  
Kaar studied the padd Ysakc had handed him with great interest. Its contents were the first pieces of data his doctor had collected on the child Naomi Wildman and her reaction to the switching off of her neural interface. He should have expected this, so he scolded himself for his incorrect assumptions. Growing up on this vessel, the child was used to holodecks of course, and the way they were used by the adults. So there was of course little divergence of her brain patterns and adrenaline levels, and whatever else the Federations gauged of the bodily functions.  
The Hirogen leader had been disappointed of both the data and himself in the beginning, but when he watched the audiovisual recording of the scene that had taken place in the Holodeck earlier, he was content to learn that the emotional stress had taken the best of the little girl, and that she had thrown herself into the arms of her mother. The reaction of the three females had been quite interesting then, they'd ascribed the-from their point of view-strange behavior of the child to the emotional stress of her having witnessed the assassination of Séverine. Since Noëmie had come into this simulation as a war orphan, the females had deemed it best that the girl be adopted by the new singer of the *Cœur de Lion*-at least for the time being.  
"We should have anticipated a reaction like this," Kaar eventually said to Ysakc. "The Federations are very socially oriented. Even if we can manipulate their memories and identities, we can neither manipulate their education nor their moral values."  
Ysakc accepted the padd Kaar was handing him back. "I am sorry that you are disappointed. However, it was and still is an excellent way to research into the function of the neural interfaces."  
Kaar nodded. "You are right. Frankly, I was thinking of putting this to an end within the next few hours, but now I want to keep this up until 1800 hours ship's time tomorrow."  
Ysakc nodded. He had thought of asking for more time, but since he knew that the other Hirogen were developing nervous trigger fingers, he hadn't dared. For a second or so he wanted to make sure that the Alpha knew about the rumors of mutiny among his people, but discarded the thought. If Kaar deemed another day for their research safe, then it meant that the situation was secure. Ysakc didn't want to put his position into jeopardy by second-guessing his commandant. "Very well, Kaar."  
The doctor had turned on the heel of his heavy boots, when Kaar called after him: "Ysakc ... please arrange a *malfunction* of the audiovisual recordings. We can very well use the energy from them for enhancing the function of the holo-emitters, can't we?"   
Ysakc turned his head, so Kaar could see him nod. "Of course. I'll have the engineer arrange it."  
  
=/\=  
  
The latest decision of Kaar wasn't very popular with Sarpa. His nickname was Tarench, which meant *Ruthless Hunter* in the Federations' standard tongue, and ever since they'd come aboard this vessel, he hadn't had the chance to live up to it. Of course had he hunted those Federations down, but since they were to be taken to sickbay to be resuscitated and patched up, the fun in it was taken away. This was-in his point of view-cheating, and if the Alpha could cheat them, he could do so as well.  
They were supposed not to know about the plans of the Résistance in the World War II scenario. Sarpa Tarench didn't care much about it. He wanted to kill, really kill, and was looking for a good pretext to do so. It wasn't that he and the others couldn't just walk in and kill Kaar first and then do with their prey whatever they pleased. He wanted to turn the tables and play a little game with Kaar himself.  
Part of this plan was spying on the Federations. He pushed the play-button again and listened to the conversation Catherine had had with Paul earlier. They'd gone through the details of their act of sabotage very minutely. Seven of Nine was forgotten for the time being, he would get her anyway, so why not save the best for last?  
Ruthless Hunter's armadillo face was looking more and more vicious by the minute.  
  
=/\=  
  
Sam had managed to pull her little daughter into a silent corner of the *Cœur de Lion*, and with it out of earshot of the Captain and Chief Engineer. Their neural interfaces were still operating, and if their plan should work out, she had to avoid raising any suspicion.  
She had pulled Naomi into a tight bear hug until the girl had calmed down. She couldn't even begin to imagine how much this entire business was puzzling her daughter. What was strange, though, was that Naomi's connection to the influence of the neural interface had been severed earlier than the others'. Joe had finished his job only a few minutes ago, as far as she knew, and Naomi hadn't eaten anything in this time. What were those Hirogen up to now, then? It must have been them, Sam was sure of it.  
"Momma, please, I don't want to play this game any longer," Naomi whispered into her ear. Her breath was tickling her ear as she spoke, so Sam pulled out of the embrace and looked at her daughter. She didn't seem to have suffered, at least not after she had become Naomi once again. As far as she knew did the neural interfaces not influence their genuine memories.  
"I know, honey. But I'm afraid we can't stop playing now. It would be cheating, and you wouldn't want to disappoint me, now would you?" Sam told her. She glanced over the shoulder of her daughter to make sure they were still having the privacy they needed. Catherine had left, and Brigitte was busy writing today's menu on a blackboard that was hanging on the wall next to Claude's piano. At least the chalk didn't squeak.  
"No," Naomi answered somewhat meekly.  
"Oh, Naomi," Sam sighed and hugged her again. What should she do with the girl in a nightclub? She could hardly send her outside to play on her own. She almost jumped when she heard Neelix' voice from a little distance.  
"Pardon ... eh scusi ...," he stammered, not knowing in what language to talk to her. When Naomi recognized him, it was all Sam could do to stop her from jumping up and running to him. "Honey, Uncle Neelix is called Jean in this game. Remember being the nice girl you are, will you?" she whispered into her ear. Naomi was still puzzled, but this entire business seemed to be so important to her mother that she wanted to do what she was told. "Yes."  
"Sì?" Sam asked, glad she'd learned Italian when she'd been offered the chance to do so.  
"I ... um, wanted to know if everything was all right? Va bene?" he asked.  
Sam smiled softly. "Sì, grazie. I ... you take care per mia figlia?" She wasn't quite sure whether her actor's skill was still as good as it had been at school, but obviously it was convincingly enough. Poor Neelix nodded enthusiastically.  
"Of course I will," he said, offering Naomi his hand. "Allons Noëmie, I think I have a sweet little something for you in the kitchen. Sounds good?"  
"Oh yes!" Trusting, Naomi's tiny hand vanished in Neelix' big one. Before they went off to the kitchen, Naomi waved at her mother.  
  
=/\=  
  
At dusk a soft wind would rise from the sea and gently blow inland. With it came the big relief from the oppressive afternoon heat, and the crusaders' camp awoke to a new life. Their waiting had paid off. Soon after Harold had returned from the main plaza in front of the King's tent, messengers had reported a first success of the mediation between the Knights of St. John and Saladin's negotiators.  
Everywhere in the camp preparations for the celebrations were being made, and the mood was as casual as it hadn't been in ages. Saladin had sent them foodstuffs as a sign of his goodwill, and those were now being prepared into tasty meals over hundreds of campfires. The babble of voices was overwhelming, from here and there music and song could be heard, in most cases anything but beautiful.  
Harry was glad that Harold was an important person from the immediate entourage of the King, because people were making way for him as he walked through the camp on his way to where the nuns and women had set camp. When he reached it, he sent one of the nuns after Lady Séverine. He didn't know whether it would have been appropriate for a man to enter the women's camp, so he decided to play on the safe. The elderly nun whom he had met had cast him a curious glance, but hadn't commented on his request. Her blessing she hadn't given either on this entire business. Maybe they too had lived trough too many odd things here that they'd ceased on wondering about anything. But it didn't seem as though they'd lost their faith and devotion, especially now that they were celebrating a tremendous success.  
Harry sighed. At least there wasn't any fighting going on here. But he was clever enough not to let himself lull into a false sense of security, especially now that the two of them had to carry out an important part of their plan. Subconsciously he touched the spot on the side of his neck where he thought the neural interface to be. If only they'd already finished it. But this was crunch-time, wasn't it? He was always in top form during crunch-time. Everything was going to work out, particularly when working with the technically quasi infallible Seven of Nine.  
"Aye, Ma'am!" he murmured to himself as an encouragement, remembering his first meeting with Kathryn Janeway. He wasn't going to let her down now. This was a question of honor.  
"Here I am, Sir Harold, and I greet you," Seven suddenly said.  
Harry jumped at this. Seven seemed to have appeared out of thin air. "Lady Séverine." He tried to return the greeting as nonchalantly as he could, but this was of course lost on Seven. He didn't know whom he wanted to impress with this.  
*Aye, Ma'am*.  
  
=/\=  
  
Eventually, the time had come for Davies to go to Sainte Claire to meet the leader of the local Resistance and Captain Miller. It had been decided that he be taken to Goulot's hamlet by jeep, and then to go on by bike. Before a private came to tell him the jeep was ready to leave the camp they'd erected in the north of Lyon, he removed all evidence of his identity from his body. Most important were the two metal plates bearing his name that every soldier was obliged to wear around his neck. He dressed in dark civilian clothes so he would appear French and couldn't be seen in the darkness. The cloth pouch in which he kept the ring for Brigitte he put into the inside breast pocket of his jacket, where it was safe from falling out by , his trousers.  
"Are you ready, Sir?" the private asked him through the closed flap of his tent just as he was putting the small weapon into his pocket.  
Was he ready? He had to admit that he was ready to help the Maquis only half-heartedly. Most of all he wanted to look for Brigitte. But first his job had to be done. Afterwards he would have plenty of time, for he wasn't to return to his unit before it had reached Goulot's, and this advance probably wouldn't take place until the next evening. For someone who was familiar with the town, this was plenty of time if they wanted to find someone.  
"I'm coming," Bobby replied, and stepped into the cooling late afternoon air. He remembered the summer he'd spent here eight years ago. It had been pretty hot then, and even now, eight years and almost one month later, it was as hot as Augusts would be. If only he could meet Brigitte under other circumstances but a war.  
The ride by jeep took them a little more than one hour, and was everything but safe. From what they knew German panzer divisions were stationed in the east of the town within eleven kilometers. They had to be careful not be detected by German patrols, but as the Americans were well informed, they had timed this mission to a point at which German patrols were farthest from Goulot's place. It was on a small hill that was hardly accessible, amidst equally inaccessible wood terrain. An ideal spot, even if patrols should return early. The trip from the hamlet to town by bike wood be smooth, though, since a great deal of the people there bought their coal from Goulot. The ride wouldn't take more than maybe fifteen minutes.  
Every step of their plan went well. When he arrived at Sainte Claire, he was even a little early. The milky panes of the *Cœur de Lion* were brightly illuminated, and from what Bobby could see and hear from outsides, there were quite a few people in the nightclub. He hadn't ran into any Germans in the town, so his mission was going to be easier, and above all accomplished all the quicker. The American's spirits rose.  
When he entered the nightclub, he found his suspicions true. There were even more Germans present than he'd anticipated. It was still early in the evening, the sun had only begun to set, but the atmosphere was already the best a nightclub owner could wish for. A man was entertaining the people by playing piano, and the conversations of the French and Germans filled the room with a low murmur of voices which was punctuated by laughter, the clinging of glasses and the popping of corks every now and then. All in all people were enjoying themselves.  
Bobby made his way to the bar where he recognized Paul immediately. They hadn't met personally yet, but the fact that the bartender was of African descent made it obvious who he was. The American in disguise sat on the last unoccupied stools and waited for Paul to tend to him. The bartender would recognize him by the order he was going to make. But until then, he let his eyes wander over the crowd in the room. The pianist was playing dance music, and a few people remained in their seats, tapping their fingers or feet to the rhythm of the music. Most of the people were dancing in the space that had been cleared of tables in the center of the room.  
The music stopped with an accord introducing a woman dressed in a long black dress whose spaghetti straps revealed a most lovely décolletage and shoulders. If it hadn't been for the daring slit at the left side of the dress, the woman's shapely legs would have remained hidden. Several admiring whistles were piercing the drifts of smoke. A man was following the woman, dressed in a tuxedo-just that he had discarded his jacket earlier. Bobby recognized him immediately-it was Captain Frank Miller.  
"Mesdames et Messieurs, meine Herren, welcome to the *Cœur de Lion*," the breathtakingly beautiful woman greeted her guests. Bobby, who had a good view from his elevated seat on the stool, noticed that Miller's hand had found its way into the woman's hand. He was about to raise an eyebrow at this, when a voice distracted him.  
"Bon soir, what can I do for you, Monsieur?" When Bobby turned his head in the direction of the voice, he noticed Paul.  
"I'd like some Calvados, s'il vous plaît," Bobby ordered in a French that was almost free of any American accent. He'd always had *an ear* for foreign languages which enabled him to speak almost without any accent. If Paul was impressed by this, he managed to let it show only by a raised eyebrow. He nodded.  
Meanwhile, the woman-whom Bobby knew to be Catherine Leroux, the owner of the *Cœur de Lion*-had continued her little speech. "I'm so glad to tell you that finally my beloved husband has returned from his voyage-and quite alive as I'd like to say." People laughed at this. Everyone knew that François Leroux-the real one, at least-was presumed dead. It was amazing that the two men looked so much alike that everyone who knew him obviously bought their story. "Tonight, we will celebrate his return. I'd like to thank you for the support you've given me during the long time of his absence. So the first round is with my compliments to you-on one condition: You leave the war outsides," she added in a low, almost husky voice. This seemed to be a running gag because everybody laughed at this. Catherine raised her arms to get their attention once more. Bobby knew why. She wanted to introduce their new singer, since Séverine deNeuf had suddenly left them. "Please enjoy the voice of Signorina Sabina from Italy!"  
The Signorina was cute, but not as beautiful as people said Séverine had been. She had a nice voice, and after she'd sung the first stanza of the song "Would it Be Wrong", people resumed their conversations. Bobby's eyes continued scanning the room, and in one corner he noticed the Nazis sitting, enjoying themselves.   
When Paul served him his drink along with a bowl of green grapes, Catherine let go of Miller's hand and came over to the bar. So this was her partner in crime.  
"Bon soir, Monsieur," she greeted him.  
"Madame." Bobby rose and kissed the proffered back of her hand. Standing so close to him, Catherine looked even more beautiful. Bobby had a hard time remembering whether she had looked so gorgeous eight years ago, but decided not to think about it more than necessary.  
"I haven't seen you in a while. How are things going in Dijon?" she started small talk, popping a green grape into her mouth. Miller joined them and put his arms around her waist. Bobby wasn't blind. The two of them were acting too good as a reunited couple. He was sure there was more to their relationship.  
"It's pretty much the same, Catherine, nothing interesting," Bobby answered. "I'm glad you're back, François."  
"Me too," Miller smiled, kissing Catherine's temple.  
*One can see that,* Bobby commented silently. "If you'll excuse me, please. The ride down from Dijon has been quite dusty," Bobby said instead, and once again rose from his stool, this time to head for the gents' room.  
"Mais bien sûr. Enjoy the evening," Catherine smiled at him as he left for the back of the nightclub. The two of them resumed their flirting, wandered from table to table to talk to friends, until Catherine felt the time ripe for following her contact. An instant later, Jean asked Miller to come to the kitchen and try the marinade for one of his salads.  
Sarpa looked at his friends and nodded. One after another, they got up and left the *Cœur de Lion*.  
  
=/\=  
  
"I'll begin the story of Antiochus, the wicked King, and of Apollonius the Tyran Prince," Gaucelm Faidit, the troubadour of Richard, announced in his deep voice. Normally, it wasn't a troubadour's job to tell a story, but there was no one in the crusader's camp who could tell a story better than him. Richard and his entourage were sitting around a table beneath an awning, enjoying the best meal and drink in a long time. Faidit was walking around their table, looking from one to the other as he passed his audience.  
"There lived a King in the city of Antioch named Antiochus. The city was named after this King. The Queen of this King had passed away, and she had left behind a most beautiful daughter. When she had reached the age to be married, many a famous man desired her and gave her expensive presents ..."   
Harry stopped listening to the story soon. There were more pressing needs that had to be taken care of. Besides, he already knew the story of Apollonius of Tyre. He'd read the ancient novel after he'd learned about it at school. Of course the teacher hadn't read it with them, because it was written in Old-English and thus a little difficult to understand. There were translations into modern English and Federation Standard of course, but ... one never knew what teachers were up to when it came to selecting literature for class.  
So he excused himself after having shot Seven a glance. She was sitting next to him at the table. Her natural Borg aura of annoyance was most suitable for this occasion. Although usually annoying to Harry, he was now glad for this character trait of hers. When she recognized his glance, she turned her head and nodded. The hint of a smile was playing about the corners of her mouth. Harry whispered to her that there was a falcon with an injured wing that he had to look after. It was good enough a reason for him to leave the banquet early without raising the Alpha Hirogen's suspicion. Now that his neural interface was deactivated, it was hard enough to play Harold's role as if nothing had happened.  
Minutes later, he met Seven at the arranged place. He didn't know the reason why she had left the banquet, but he was gentleman enough not to ask. Frankly, he didn't want to know it. Who knew what she'd told the others. Before he'd come here, he'd really looked after the falcons, but since he had no idea whatsoever how to deal with the animals, he'd left soon, in case he was being watched. Which he doubted, for everybody was enjoying the story Gaucelm was telling. He could hear his rich voice even here.  
"Are you ready?" Harry softly said when Seven was standing in front of him. She looked good-gorgeous-in the long burgundy-colored gown with the rich embroidery at the seams. Her hair was piled up in a most complicated way, and she was holding her head even more proudly than usual, as if her hairdo were a crown. The Borg implants above her eye and at the ear were reflecting the last of the setting sun's blood-red rays.  
"Yes," she nodded, and was about to walk towards the tent of the English King, when Harry caught her by the arm. She turned on her heel in one swift motion and looked at him with her icy blue eyes.  
"Seven ...," Harry began, "this is not the way Ladies walked in the Middle Ages." She bent her head ever so slightly which indicated that she wanted him to explain himself. Instead of this, he took her hand and put it on the back of his hand, which he held in midair. She looked skeptically at him, but since she deemed it only logical to behave like people used to in those days long past in order not to be discovered, she did what he wanted her to do.  
"Now, you take small steps, say, two at one of mine, okay?" Harry instructed her. Seven nodded slowly. Her brow almost knitted with concentration when she strode next to him.  
Harry hardly could help smiling.  
  
To be continued ... 


	10. Maquis

Disclaimer: See Part 1  
  
Cœur de Lion  
By Katie  
  
Chapter 10  
Maquis  
  
They met in the back of the *Cœur de Lion*. Bobby   
noticed with a hint of disappointment that Catherine had changed   
from her gown into a pair of black trousers and a dark brown   
blouse with little white flowers printed on it. When she descended   
the stairs, she was checking the ammunition of a gun. After she'd   
made sure that everything was all right with the weapon, she let it   
slide into the pocket of her trousers. Bobby cast her a surprised   
glance.  
"I'll accompany you, Mr Davies," Catherine told him.  
Bobby smiled nervously. "I took it either Captain Miller or   
the leader of the local Résistance would accompany me," he   
explained, relaxing and leaning against the handrail of the stairs.   
From the kitchen they could hear the clattering around of Jean.   
From the bar the sound of well-entertained people and Sabina's   
voice were flooding through the hall towards them.  
Catherine smiled her amused half-smile. "I am the leader   
of the local Résistance."  
Bobby was so surprised that he didn't know what to say.   
Normally, he was very quick with his answers, whatever the   
comment or question was, but this really caught him off-guard. He   
had never thought about a woman being the leader of the local   
Résistance, even in his wildest dreams—but they were dealing with   
another woman these days anyway.  
The Madame put her finger under his chin and made him   
close his mouth again. "You're not the first, mon ami. Now, I   
suggest you overcome your shock so we can get started."  
"Just a moment!" Miller chimed in. He was coming from   
the kitchen, still licking his lips. The vinaigrette Jean had made for   
the lamb's lettuce was delicious. "Davies, you take good care of   
her, is this understood?"  
"Of course, Sir," Bobby assured him, all-dutiful at once.   
Their mission was important, plus he knew that Miller was not the   
kidding type of man in situations like these. Boy, he'd really gotten   
it bad. But who was he to talk?  
Miller hesitated for a second after he'd turned at Catherine.   
He caught her in a tight embrace, kissing her good-bye   
passionately. Bobby, who now got to know a new side of the   
Captain, suddenly found the pattern of the carpet that covered the   
stairs very interesting. But he couldn't help listening to what they   
said.  
"Take good care, will ya, love?" Miller whispered. He   
didn't expect her to answer, so he kissed her briefly, and finally   
pulled free from their embrace. He watched the two of them leave   
through the back door. Only when he turned around to go back to   
his guests did he realize that he was holding his fingers crossed for   
them. Angrily, he opened his hands, scolding himself for this   
superstitious gesture. Both Catherine and Davies were experts in   
this matter, so why worry. And yet ...  
  
=/\=  
  
"Computer, run a simulation on medical maneuver 359,"   
the Doctor said, his usual calm voice now quivering with   
anticipation and a good deal of hope. If only this worked this time.   
This was more difficult than he'd thought in the beginning. He was   
holding tight to the casing of the monitor, although knowing   
perfectly well that this wasn't going to accomplish anything. And   
yet it was comforting.  
His dark eyes were observing the goings-on on the screen   
intently, watching both the center of the screen and the bottom   
right corner, where the computer displayed several columns of   
rapidly changing data. His smile was widening by the second, and   
when the simulation was over and the result to his satisfaction, he   
couldn't help crying out in triumph.  
"What is it?" Ysakc, who had been busy working in the   
lab, was peering in through the doorway. It was all the Doctor   
could do not to jump at the question of the Hirogen medic.  
"Oh, nothing. I've just managed to ... um maximize the   
readouts of this scanning unit here. I've tried this for months," the   
Doctor lied.   
"Why didn't you just have one of your excellent engineers   
have a look at it?" Ysakc wanted to know.  
"Sometimes, one has to accomplish things by oneself. It   
makes you feel good," the Doctor explained. Where had that come   
from? What was that Hirogen up to? This sounded as if he really   
wanted to know, and it was curiosity and genuine interest that had   
been in his voice rather than annoyance at the hologram. What was   
he up to?  
"Even if you're a hologram?"  
The Doctor turned around, hiding the screen behind his   
back. He was still startled. "Yes, even as a hologram."  
"You Federations are interesting folks," Ysakc commented.   
"I wish ..." The Hirogen let his voice trail off. When he recognized   
the Doctor's inquisitive gaze, he said, in a manner more brusquely   
know, just like it was his habit: "That need not concern you.   
Proceed." Then he turned and vanished once again in the lab.  
If it hadn't been for the Doctor's certainty that the Hirogen   
only meant them all evil, he would have interpreted the behavior of   
this guy almost as scientific curiosity. But even then ... hadn't   
Voyager made bad experience enough of scientific methods of   
research in the past months? No, the Doctor was quite sure that   
even the Hirogen medic was playing a game of his own. First he'd   
threatened to shut his program down if he didn't do as he was   
ordered. And now he feigned interest, was probably even trying to   
make friends with him?  
Or had they changed their agenda? No. Impossible. The   
survival of the Hirogen depended on the kills they'd make on   
Voyager, they wouldn't put this opportunity at risk. A change of   
mind, perhaps? The Doctor had already asked this question   
himself. But again, he came to the conclusion that this was all due   
to the agenda of the hunting race. Their manipulating of him was   
part of their plan, of that he was sure.  
He turned back at the screen of the computer, and looked at   
his *experiment* once again. "Computer, run simulation on   
medical maneuver 359 again." He had to be a thousand percent   
sure of this. This entire business was too important as though he   
could rely on only one simulation. This was his part of the plan,   
nobody else knew about it, and this was important. Once again he   
wondered why none of the three he'd sent back to the holodecks   
with their neural interfaces off line had asked him what to do once   
everybody had regained their own identities. How should they   
defend themselves against the Hirogen once they'd detected that   
they'd broken free from their game?  
*Humans,* he thought, shaking his head, smiling softly to   
himself. But what would he be if it hadn't been for them?  
  
=/\=  
  
The two of them walked slowly down the dark streets,   
making their way from nothing but the dim light of the half moon.   
There were no lights in the streets, the shutters of the houses were   
closed so that not a single ray of light could escape the homes. The   
Germans had ordered them to do so. Now that the Americans were   
approaching they didn't want to be detected by aircraft, and so it   
had to be dark in the small town of Sainte Claire. Nonsense,   
paranoia to the inhabitants of the town, more so to the Americans.   
They had come to free the country from their occupying forces but   
not by means that would reduce the town to rubble. The French   
were innocent after all, so why punish them for something they   
hadn't done? Sure, a great part of the French had welcomed the   
Germans, they were cooperating with them, but only to protect   
themselves from more harm. Others didn't think like them. Those   
were people like Catherine Leroux, who had put up the Résistance   
under orders from deGaulle, who directed them first from London,   
then from some secret place in France. The occupation was a hard   
test on the French who had been split into two.  
"Madame?" Davies eventually broke the silence. His voice   
was low, adapting to their sneaking through the dark streets. They   
could have went straight across the square to get to the front door   
of the former Hôtel de Ville, but only if they'd suddenly changed   
their minds to getting shot. So now they were sneaking through the   
ill lit streets to get to a back door of the building hosting the   
occupying forces.  
"Oui?"  
"May I ask you something?" the sandy-haired man wanted   
to know.  
Catherine wasn't sure what kind of question to expect. Did   
he want to know about why she'd joined the Résistance? Did he   
want to know about her relationship with Miller? She hesitated   
before nodding at him to go on. She didn't have to answer him,   
right?  
"Will you help me find Brigitte when this is over?" Now,   
from all question she hadn't expected this one. But then, as if the   
question had sparked a weak ember in her brain, memory now   
caught fire, a tiny flame first, but then ...   
... she came to a dead stop. "You're Bobby Davies. I   
remember you, you've been to the *Cœur de Lion* before, together   
with Brigitte," she answered.  
Bobby Davies was standing almost one head higher than   
her, now that she'd changed into a pair of flat shoes. The pale light   
of the moon was drawing the features of is face, making them   
stand out into strong contrast to the dark half of his face. "You   
know me?"  
"Miller never told me you were coming to help me with   
this, and probably you weren't told about me either. When we met   
for the first time, it was only a brief encounter," Catherine told   
him. "But I know you better than you can even begin to think."  
"How so?" Subconsciously, Davies secured his footing,   
crossed his arms in front of his chest in a defensive manner.  
"Brigitte is a very dear friend of mine. She hasn't been   
when you were still here, but she told me everything about you as   
soon as she'd come to trust me," Catherine offered, putting her   
hand on his forearm in a calming gesture.  
The smile that was brightening his blue eyes and face now   
was enough to make the pale moonlight shine warmer. There he   
was, he'd finally found her ... at least he knew where to look now,   
there was this incredible woman telling him that ... oh Gods ...   
"She is still very deeply in love with you, Bobby," Catherine   
continued, "but things have changed. The war ... hasn't made life   
easier for any of us, it even has changed some of us completely.   
Please be gentle with her."  
"I will, oh Madame, you can't even begin to understand   
how much I love her," Bobby said.  
"Believe me, I can," the French woman replied, smiling   
softly to herself. She herself had found the true love of her life only   
a few days ago. She cupped his dark cheek with her hand. "You're   
a good guy, Bobby, please promise me to never stop loving her,   
even if all odds are against you, come what might."  
To Bobby the words of the older woman sounded as   
though she were administering a promise of marriage to him. To   
Catherine her words were an assurance that the man would stay at   
Brigitte's side even now that she was pregnant with another guy's   
child. Davies covered her hand on his cheek with his and squeezed   
it gently. He hadn't thought otherwise anyway, so why not promise   
her?  
"I promise."  
  
=/\=  
  
By the time Harry and Seven had reached the King's tent,   
the sun had completely set, and it was quite dark in the camp. A   
red shimmer of light illuminated the darkening sky wherever there   
were campfires. Sometimes, sparks would rise with the smoke into   
the night sky and promise the raising of the stars. The noise of the   
banquet and from the other small parties was filling the cooling air,   
drowning the natural sounds of the nights. If it had been   
completely silent around them, they could have listened to the   
rustling of the soft breeze in the dry leaves of the trees, the distant   
murmuring of the surf and of course to the songs of the crickets.   
An ideal setting for spending a romantic night with a beautiful   
woman like Seven at his side.  
But Harry was well aware of the importance of their   
mission, and so he kept concentrating on the task at hand. Soon   
they'd reached the King's tent. They made sure that there was no   
one around, then they slipped silently inside. Complete darkness   
surrounded them, covering their activities. Harry waited for his   
eyes to adjust to what little light was left in the tent, but he soon   
found that the tarpaulin was too thick as to let any of the distant   
reddish light enter. Uneasiness spread in the pit of his stomach, the   
silence was as deafening as the air was stuffy and stifling. If it had   
been only him, he sure would have felt a lot better, but with Seven   
by his side it was an entirely different story.  
"The Doctor has told me where to find the access panel to   
the manual controls," Seven suddenly told him. She got him with   
that, but to her credit she was at least whispering.  
"Very well. Go ahead," Harry urged her. Finding the   
access panel meant finding a wrist-torch. He'd give a kingdom for   
some light.  
As it turned out, it was less costly, but still too expensive   
for him. Despite having better night vision than him, Seven   
knocked him over on her way to a chest in the far corner of the   
tent. She pushed him rudely aside, sending him hitting yet another   
chest with his shin. It was all he could do not to let out a stifled cry   
of pain. Instead he settled for just inhaling sharply. And then came   
the last words he'd expected over Seven's lips: "I am sorry."  
"Never mind," he eventually replied. Why was it that this   
woman always found a way to make him feel ... what? Like an   
idiot? Surprised? Dumbstruck? Funny in his stomach? He wasn't   
quite sure, so he settled for a mixture of all of these feelings. What   
he wasn't ready to admit, though, was that they could be summed   
up under the generic term of love.  
The lights that suddenly threw two bright circles on the   
tarpaulin wall chased his thoughts away at once. So Seven had   
found the access panel. Of course had he realized this earlier, when   
the dim green and red lights in the relays of the panel had become   
visible. But now that they were having brighter illumination at   
their hands—literally speaking—Harry found that the access panel   
had been hidden behind the front wall of the chest the Doctor had   
led them to. Then there materialized some tools in front of the   
chest out of thin air. Seven informed him that the Doctor had sent   
them to them.  
"Computer, get me a clarinet," Harry suddenly said. Of   
course, nothing did happen. Just like he'd anticipated.  
"What was that supposed to mean, Ensign?" Seven wanted   
to know, looking at him with her head slightly tilted. This was so ...   
out of place ... the two of them in their medieval clothes in front of   
an access panel of a highly sophisticated computer. Harry smiled   
softly to himself.  
"I just wanted to get a suspicion confirmed," Harry simply   
said.  
"Well?"  
"Did I get what I wanted?" He showed her his empty   
hands. "No, so I take it that we can't give the computer oral   
orders."  
"But the Hirogen can. I see, they have obviously limited   
oral access to the computer to voice identification," Seven stated.  
"Are these tools holographic?" he pressed on.  
"Yes, they are," came the reply.  
Harry whistled ever so slightly under his breath. "So they   
must have gained access to making minor changes to the program."  
"I would say so," Seven said, finding nothing special about   
it—except for her hope that Starfleet efficiency might have   
increased alongside her social skills. Seven pulled some of the   
isolinear chips in the panel out of their places, and exchanged them   
among themselves. Harry kept watching both her actions and the   
opening of the tent, concentrating on possible sounds outsides.  
His ears didn't betray him. Only shortly after they'd   
stopped talking, he could hear stones and dirt crunching beneath   
the soles of heavy boots. The sound was coming closer by the   
second, and it was high time they did something when Seven   
closed the panel, hiding the tools under her long skirt.  
Not quite knowing how to explain their being inside the   
tent, Harry caught her in a tight embrace and pulled a startled   
Seven close to him. Just as the tarpaulin flaps were parted, he was   
brushing his lips against hers, stifling her surprised cry of protest.   
One of his hands went up to cup her cheek out of its own will,   
while with the other he pulled her body yet a little bit closer to his.  
He had kissed her before, but then it had been forced upon   
him either by Seven herself in her eagerness to try out her bodily   
functions or by some ill aliens who had used them as their guinea-  
pigs. But this kiss—although forced upon him in a certain way—  
was totally different from their earlier tries. This was because the   
kiss was being returned. Seven clung tightly to him with her Borg   
force once she'd overcome the initial shock, but to Harry's surprise   
she let him—or rather his tongue—guide her.   
His eyes fluttered open to check if they were still alone.   
Instead, he found himself glancing at Seven, whose eyes were   
closed. But there was no time to revel in this. Out of the corner of   
his eye he found that they were no longer alone. Simultaneously,   
the intruder drew the attention to himself by clearing his throat.  
  
=/\=  
  
Frank returned to the guests of the *Cœur de Lion*   
immediately after Catherine and Davies had left. He didn't want to   
raise any suspicion. There were less Nazis in this evening than   
they'd anticipated—and hoped for—, but Brückner and his aide   
Riebel were there, and the two of them were the most annoying   
and dangerous ones of the gang. Kaar wasn't even that bad,   
particularly since he didn't show up very often, and Sarpa had left   
earlier. Sarpa was the guy Frank was most apprehensive of,   
because he had something about him that made the American   
uneasy, to put it mildly.  
Not quite knowing what to do, he went to Sabina, who was   
standing at the bar, having a glass of water. Every three or four   
songs she'd make a short break to recover her voice. People were   
smoking very much in here and this wasn't exactly the best thing   
for a singer's voice.  
"How are you doing, what do you think?" Frank asked her.   
Sabina eyed him with a mixture of curiosity and bemusement, but   
she did let the latter show only the slightest bit.   
*Of course does he not know who he really is,* Sam   
thought. It was strange to see Commander Chakotay like this, in   
1940's style clothes, with his hair sticking to his head. The tattoo   
seemed out of place, and she wondered what story he would tell if   
asked. She had to admit, though, that the Hirogen hadn't changed   
his character very much, as they'd done with everybody. They still   
were the same in character, despite their acting differently on it   
because of their new backgrounds. And what she found most   
charming was that Catherine and Frank were acting on their mutual   
love. At the same time it saddened her because Sam wasn't sure,   
how this would turn out in the end. So far they did not know if any   
of the people who had been sent to the holodecks remembered   
what had happened there. If they did remember, then ... She didn't   
want to pursue this thought any longer, the thought alone what   
would be with Naomi in that case sent icy shivers down her spine.  
"I feel comfortable," she admitted. "But you have to ask   
your guests whether they like me yourself."  
"I don't think so. They look pretty impressed," Frank   
replied. "You have a beautiful voice."  
Although the mature woman she was, Sam couldn't help   
blushing. If only Chakotay were aware of what he'd just said. He'd   
just made her one of the nicest compliments she'd gotten ever since   
Larx—and Joe, of course, but her relationship with him was still   
too fragile. Frankly, she wasn't sure if this was right. But this   
wasn't the time to brood over this. "Mille grazie," she merely said,   
reaching for his hand and squeezing it gently. "If you'll excuse me,   
there's only little time left until I've got to sing again."  
"Sure," Frank murmured under his breath, and watched her   
leave for the restrooms.   
Once alone in the back of the nightclub, Sam pulled up the   
skirt of her dress and removed the combadge she'd attached to its   
seam. She activated it on the bugproof channel and contacted the   
Doctor. During her short conversation with Commander Chakotay,   
the combadge had started vibrating to let her know that she should   
contact the Doctor as soon as possible.  
"Wildman here," she announced, glancing nervously up the   
stairs that led to the apartments above the nightclub. She decided   
that it'd be best if she went up there.  
"Ensign, good to hear from you," the Doctor greeted her.   
"Is everything all right in Sainte Claire?"  
"Yes, it's working. I'll tell you everything later."  
"Very well. Seven of Nine has just let me know that they   
have access to the panel in Holodeck Two. How much time do you   
have at your disposal?" the Doctor wanted to know.  
"Not much, but if I can make a quick one, no one will   
notice anything. As far as I could observe all of our people in here   
have eaten or drunk something," Sam said.  
"Good. Listen, the access panel is located in the aft wall of   
the holodeck."  
Sam calculated where this was in relation to her position.   
"Oh no, Doctor, there's no way for me to get there. It's just next to   
the fireplace. Everybody would see me," she almost exclaimed.  
The Doctor was silent for a minute or so. Sam made sure   
that they weren't missing her yet, and in her thoughts she urged the   
hologram at the receiving end to hurry up. Eventually, the Doctor   
said: "Don't worry, Ensign. Just keep up the acting, I think we can   
get this done in another way."  
"Sure?"  
"Do you remember Seska's little leaving-present, the   
mutiny scenario?"  
"Yes," Sam answered somewhat breathlessly. Time was   
pressing now.  
"Well, Lieutenant Carey has remembered it, and I think he   
can find a way to get you all out of there safe and sound," the   
Doctor replied in a most annoying chatty manner.  
"You *think* he can!?"  
"I *know* he can," he corrected himself. "Don't worry,   
Ensign. Doctor out."  
  
=/\=  
  
Joe had known that this time, the Doctor's call didn't mean   
anything good. A minute later he knew that he'd been right. Sure,   
the Captain and Torres had been able to free Paris and Tuvok from   
Seska's mutiny scenario, but only because they had cheated on the   
computer. He didn't know how he could accomplish this now. The   
Hirogen, too, had encrypted the major subroutines of holodeck-  
programming. Finding a hole to slip through could mean several   
hours' work. Several hours they didn't have. Even with this strange   
new attitude of the Hirogen they couldn't be sure whether they   
preferred to change it as quickly again.  
All of this was his burden now. He'd been so relieved and   
proud of himself when he'd found that he could make minor   
changes of the program, and when he'd reprogrammed the   
replicators. But this was a task that couldn't be accomplished from   
outside the holodeck.  
Shaking his head because of this new obstacle at hand, he   
returned to his task. It was just a minor repair at one of the   
computer relays, a malfunction whose cause he hadn't yet found.   
But if everything went well, he'd have repaired it in a matter of   
minutes. Then he could think about a solution to his new one.   
Maybe he'd get an inspiration for it working on the easier problem.  
At least it seemed as if it the computer relays were the   
easier problem. For a while, he searched for the cause of the   
malfunction. Then he found that the usually blue gel-packs had   
changed their color. With Neelix being on the holodeck, Carey   
could rule out cheese this time. But what was wrong with the gel-  
packs, then?  
He opened his tricorder. According to the readings of the   
mechanical components, there wasn't anything wrong. When he   
changed to the limited medical analysis program, though, he found   
that the gel-packs were having a serious illness. With Voyager ill,   
the safety protocols on Holodeck Two could wait. If the bio-neural   
network of the gel-packs failed, they wouldn't need the safety   
protocols any more. Escape pods would be more popular, then.  
He rerouted the function to conventional data processing   
before removing the ill gel-pack from the panel. After a quick   
explanation to his Hirogen guard, they went to sickbay as quickly   
as possible.  
  
To be continued ... 


	11. Bacterium Casei Neelixis

Disclaimer: see part I  
  
Cœur de Lion  
by Katie  
  
Chapter 11  
Bacterium Casei Neelixis  
  
The Doctor's brow was deeply furrowed in concentration.   
He'd hauled out a special analysis device for gel-packs from   
somewhere in the lower drawers of his laboratory, and was now   
setting the parameters for the check-up.  
"It's good you came as soon as you've found it,   
Lieutenant," the Doctor observed, putting the blue gel-pack with a   
greenish hue into the device. Carey hadn't left yet, he wanted to   
know about the result of the check. He flapped his tricorder open   
and checked on the data he'd collected on the mechanical   
components of the gel-packs earlier. Again, he was relieved to find   
that everything was all right—at least with the technical part of the   
business.  
"Too bad that this time it's not the fault of Neelix's cheese.   
We'd have an easy solution at hands then," Carey pointed out.  
"Hmm, French cheese can be pretty sharp at times too, as I   
recall," the hologram murmured. "But then, it'd be holographic   
bacteria in this case, and I doubt that they could be of much harm   
to our little friends here."  
Carey gave this a moment's thought, then he wondered:   
"Even with the security protocols off-line?"  
"You haven't gotten them back on-line yet?" Carey's   
remark had caught the Doctor's full attention. He spun around and   
looked the Irish engineer directly in the eyes.  
"No, I was repairing several relays when you called on me.   
I wanted to finish this first before looking after the security   
protocols, that's when I found the ill gel-pack," Carey explained   
with his voice slightly stronger now that he had to defend himself.   
Or at least he thought so.  
"Well, yes, of course. You couldn't have managed this in a   
matter of five minutes, now, could you?" the Doctor admitted, the   
furrows on his brow softening something. "I guess, this entire   
business is taking its toll on me as well. It's high time we did   
something."  
After Carey had made sure that *his* Hirogen guard had   
settled for a talk with Sickbay's guard, he asked: "I thought you   
were having a plan?"   
"Yes, I do. But at first I wanted you to get those security   
protocols back on-line. I think we'll have to change it a little bit. I   
just wanted to make sure that the crew are in no danger any more   
until I'd found the solution to the problem with my part," the   
Doctor explained.  
"What problem? Perhaps I ca ...," Carey offered, but the   
hologram cut him short. "It's of a medical nature."  
"Oh, I understand." For a minute they watched the device   
completing the analysis of the gel-pack. Then something awful   
dawned on the engineer. "You aren't working on a medical   
treatment for the Hirogen's addiction to kill, are you?"  
"No, after all what they've done to our crew? I admit that   
I'm taking quite a lot out of the Hippocratic oath here, but since the   
Hirogen don't seem to give a damn about it anyway, and   
considering that Captain Janeway herself doesn't treat the Prime   
Directive differently at times, so why can't I?" the hologram   
defended himself.  
Carey had to smile. "Don't worry, Doc. Your little secret   
will be safe with me."  
The Doctor looked at him in a way Carey couldn't quite   
interpret, but before wondering about it too long, he settled for   
gratefulness with a conspiratorial touch to it. The analysis device   
had finished its job and announced this with a soft beep to the two   
men. "Ah, it's finished."  
He looked at the readout of the screen, and after skimming   
through the data displayed on it, he did something Carey wouldn't   
have thought him capable of. The holographic Doctor blanched.   
Carey's brows knitted in curiosity, and he took a look for himself,   
but in contrast to the Doctor he couldn't make any sense of the   
data. "What is it, Doctor?"  
"*I'm especially concerned about the health of the gel-  
packs. I suspect the Hirogen to have brought a disease that might   
infect them.*" the Doctor quoted. "Ensign Kim's very words. And   
what did I do? I didn't listen to him!" He had curled his left hand   
into a tight fist and slammed it into the top of the table with a force   
that made the padds laying on it jump.  
  
=/\=  
  
From his stool at the bar Frank could observe Catherine's   
guests, particularly Brückner and the other Nazis who had   
withdrawn to a darker corner of the nightclub. With the tables and   
chairs standing on a low podium that was surrounded by a railing,   
one could easily talk about some kind of the Nazis' very own   
private booth. Brückner had yet to live up to his promise of talking   
to him. Frank was rather anxious about their interview. On the one   
hand he wanted to get to know his enemy, on the other hand he   
was hoping that his disguise wouldn't be busted.  
Sabina had returned from her slightly prolonged break, and   
now she was singing again, accompanied on the piano by Claude.   
Brückner didn't make any move to have him come to him. Instead   
he seemed to be enjoying the Italian woman's singing. To the   
Hauptmann, it obviously didn't make any difference if either   
Séverine or Sabina entertained them.   
Frank turned to Paul behind the bar and wanted to ask him   
what the time was, when he felt somebody touch his sleeve. Paul   
who was drying off a glass with a towel pointed behind Frank's   
shoulder with the towel in hand. Frank turned and looked down to   
find his *mother* standing there with her hands on her hips, a little   
breathless, and a satisfied expression in her face, the one of the   
*I've been telling you*-kind.  
"Maman," Frank said, hoping he sounded convincing   
despite his being annoyed by her presence. "How nice to see you   
here!"  
"Ah, mon fils, apropos seeing each other," she began. Her   
tone of voice bade no good, Frank knew that. So to ease the tension   
a little bit he proffered her his stool to sit. "I can't see your lovely   
wife anywhere. Where is she?" she said, without preamble.  
Now, it had to be Catherine again, hadn't it? Why couldn't   
she just stop picking on her? However, Frank suppressed a sigh of   
frustration, and answered: "She doesn't feel quite well tonight.   
Maybe she'll come down later on."  
"Are you absolutely sure about it? I could have sworn that   
I'd seen her a few streets away, kissing a young man. If only she   
evinced so much passion for you as well ..." she let her voice trail   
off. Frank had to admit she'd played to the gallery quite well, but   
he knew Catherine better than allowing himself to believe the   
venomous talk of a bored old woman that was full of hatred. But of   
course ...  
... did he blink in surprise at the latest realization which   
was not the one about his wife, but that there was another person   
inhabiting this body. Chakotay found that all of a sudden he'd   
stopped observing the life of Frank Miller from somewhere outside   
his body. Instead, his soul—as if it had been sedated or had taken   
shore-leave—had suddenly returned into its very own body to take   
over from here. Now there were to personas living in this body.   
But one was the stronger one, and it was Chakotay who took over   
from here, using Frank Miller's memories and feelings to play the   
game. He realized quickly that he was on a holodeck, together with   
Tuvok, who was standing behind the bar and drying glasses.  
His realization of who he really was made Maman Leroux   
believe that that what she'd just told him was having some effect on   
him. "Maurice?"  
"Oui, Maman," he replied, using Miller's knowledge of   
French. "Are you really sure about that? Catherine would never   
betray me, I know that."  
"How foolish you are, son. Don't you think that in the long   
time you've been away she's let her sheets cool down for one single   
night?" Madame Leroux hissed.  
Chakotay didn't know what to reply. The hatred of the   
woman was so strong that he couldn't help pitying her. What a   
poor, lonely old woman she had to be that she had to do something   
like this. Catherine—or rather Kathryn—would never behave like   
this, never, not after the passion she had been evincing for him.   
And then it hit him with all its might. Kathryn and he ... they were   
a couple, at least in this holographic simulation. Somehow he was   
glad she wasn't here, witnessing all this. If she had regained her   
consciousness of who she really was, yet? What was going on here,   
after all?  
He noticed the singer winking at him. It was Ensign   
Wildman, and if he had interpreted her wink the right way, she   
knew what was going on. At least one. He was about to order the   
computer to stop the program, when the door opened, and a   
Hirogen hunter dressed in a Nazi uniform came in. How could he   
have forgotten that they had been enslaved by the Hirogen? It was   
sure then, and certainly most wise, to keep playing the role of   
Frank Miller.  
But before Chakotay could act on it, B'Elanna stepped   
towards them from behind. The first thing that struck Chakotay   
about his friend was her pregnancy. A smile tugged on the corners   
of his mouth, for he had never been able to picture B'Elanna   
pregnant of all people. At second glance, though, he had to admit   
that the child suited the Half-Klingon quite well. She looked less   
*Klingon* that way.  
Chakotay wasn't sure whether he was commenting on   
Madame Leroux' revelation or B'Elanna's condition when he said,   
absolutely flabbergasted: "I can't believe it."  
"You'll accept it, son," old Madame Leroux commented   
matter-of-factly. Then, in a triumphant tone, she added: "And who   
do you think she was kissing, eh? That American boy who turned   
Brigitte's head several years ago!"  
The old woman hadn't noticed B'Elanna standing behind   
her. Her voice sounded so completely unbelieving that Chakotay   
realized at once that B'Elanna was still Brigitte.   
"No," was the only word she said.  
Madame Leroux turned to face her, and padded her cheek   
in a condescending manner. "Yes, my dear. Your ... Bobby ... is   
back. But he hasn't quite found his way, now that he's lying in the   
arms of another woman. But who are you to speak, with that Nazi   
bastard in there?" She stabbed her belly with a bony finger.  
"Now, that's enough, mother!" Chakotay said, his voice   
dangerously calm with anger. "We've gathered here to celebrate   
my return, and you don't know any better than spreading the most   
ugly and disgusting rumors?"  
The old woman rose. "How dare you? You're talking to   
your mother, young man!"  
Chakotay closed his eyes to gather his inner calm. "Go.   
You aren't the woman I remember to be my mother. Please go."  
"You fools!" she spat. Until now they hadn't noticed that   
this ugly scene was being observed by everybody in the nightclub.   
The guests were staring at them in disbelief, not knowing how to   
react. Most of them knew about the Leroux family history, but   
none of them—not a single one—thought Catherine capable of   
adultery. But what was that about the American in their town?  
Paul had come forth from behind his realm. He gestured   
for Madame to leave, and in perfect gentlemanly manner he   
walked her to the door. Then he expressed his regrets for the ugly   
scene to everybody present, and asked them—if possible—to   
return to their conversations. Of course the atmosphere was   
strained for a while, but soon people began shaking their heads   
about the old hag.   
Brigitte's face was ashen, and she was shaking her head in   
disbelief. Somebody had pushed a chair to sit on underneath her.   
After Chakotay had nodded at Wildman to go on singing, he   
squatted in front of his friend and took the hand resting on her   
thigh into his. Never before had he realized how minute her hands   
were. She was caressing her belly with her other hand   
absentmindedly. They remained like this for several minutes.  
Eventually, she raised her head. Tears were rolling down   
her cheeks. "Tell me this isn't true, François!" she said, her voice   
small.  
"She must have made this up, Brigitte," Chakotay lied.   
Catherine had told him about Brigitte's lost love, and when he put   
one and one together he realized that Bobby Davies—or should he   
say Tom Paris?—was this lost love. "I'm sure, she must have made   
this up. Catherine would never betray me." Chakotay was well   
aware of the danger they were in. Old Leroux had told them that   
there was an American in town, loud enough so even the Nazis in   
their private booth could—must—have heard it in the deathly   
quiet.  
Without recognizing it, Brigitte had used the real name of   
Maurice Leroux. Who had noticed her slip of tongue though, was   
Brückner, who, concerned about his child, had come up behind   
them unnoticed.  
"François, it is, then? I was quite certain that your first   
name is Maurice, Herr Leroux," he simply said, his child forgotten.   
To Frank's relief, he'd obviously overheard the mentioning of the   
Americans' presence in town.  
  
=/\=  
  
Catherine and Bobby had found an open window on the   
first floor of the misused town hall through which they had   
sneaked into the building. It had been child's play for Catherine to   
open the shutter from the outside. Now they were stealing down   
the hall to the stairs. According to Brigitte's description they had to   
find the former mayor's office. There the Germans had put up their   
radio equipment. Both Catherine and Bobby were wondering why   
they had chosen to equip the radio station just there. The   
Hauptmann had had his office set up in the same room.  
They were almost alone in the building. Despite the critical   
situation for the occupants, the building was deserted. Every thirty   
minutes a patrol saw that everything was all right, but this was it.   
The radio station was filled round the clock, they would have to   
knock the soldier out. The last patrol had just vanished around the   
corner to write their report in the doorman's office. So the two   
intruders had plenty of time at their hands to sneak upstairs,   
destroy the radio and close the shutters behind them as though   
there'd never happened anything. Another party of two from the   
Résistance was taking care of the telephone lines of the Hôtel de   
Ville right now.  
Catherine switched on her flash-light and headed for the   
stairs. They could hardly see their own hands in front of their faces   
because of the blackout. "Damn, it's dark in here," Bobby muttered   
softly. Catherine didn't comment on this, she'd stopped   
commenting on statements of the obvious long ago. Otherwise,   
Paul would have driven her crazy.  
When they reached the upper half-landing, they made sure   
that they still were alone. Catherine thought she'd heard fabric rub   
against fabric and heavy boots tapping the carpet, but she   
dismissed the thought soon. Maybe her nerves were just playing   
tricks on her.  
Eventually, they found their way to the Hauptmann's   
office. Catherine opened the door carefully, grateful that the   
squeaking door had been oiled by the Nazis, just like Brigitte had   
reported to her. She had to know, she'd worked here before the   
occupation after all. The radio operator was working in the dim   
glow of a lamp. It was casting bizarre shadows on the wall,   
distorting the shapes of the furniture and artifacts into a dark   
shapeless mass. As a child, Catherine had always seen monsters or   
beasts of some kind in them, so when she slept, she never kept her   
lamp on. Unlike others, she'd felt safer in complete darkness—it   
was dark when she closed her eyes, after all.  
The radio was turned off at the moment. The headphones   
were laying on top of the radio. The radio operator had chosen the   
radio silence to take a nap. His chin was resting on his breastbone   
and he was snoring softly. This made it easier for the two dark   
figures who were entering the room on tiptoes now. Bobby   
produced something from the pocket of his jacket and clobbered   
the sleeping man with it, sending him even further into the realm of   
sweet dreams.  
Catherine pushed the chair he was sitting in away and   
started to manipulate the radio. Bobby checked the door, then he   
went across the room to the window. Somebody had forgotten to   
close the slats of the shutters. The cool moonlight was pouring in,   
decorating the expensive carpet with bright beams. He peeped out,   
finding the market place deserted. Only the moon was illuminating   
the square, even the *Cœur de Lion* had set its compulsory   
blackout up.  
"How's it going?" Bobby whispered into Catherine's   
general direction.  
"I'm almost done," the French woman hissed back. She   
produced a pair of pliers from the pocket of her trousers and cut   
several wires she'd pulled out from the radio. When she had   
finished, she stared puzzled at the tool in her right hand, and the   
wires in the other. *What the ...* she wondered.  
"Captain?" she heard a familiar voice ask her. Kathryn   
turned around and found Tom Paris standing in front of her,   
dressed in dark civilian clothes from another time and place.  
"Tom," Kathryn said in disbelief. What were they doing   
here? Subconsciously, she massaged the knot at the point where   
her shoulder joined her neck. At first, she didn't recognize it, but   
then she found a hard tiny spot beneath her skin. Kathryn lifted her   
head and looked askance at her companion. "May I?"  
Tom's eyebrows knitted, but before he could reply   
anything, he felt his Captain's long fingers vanish beneath the   
collar of his shirt. Her fingers were gently probing his skin at the   
same place where she'd touched herself earlier. Then she found   
what she was looking for. Tom felt it as her fingers stroked over   
the skin, pressing it against the small something beneath it. "What   
is this, Captain? Some kind of mind controlling device?"  
"I guess so," Kathryn murmured, withdrawing her hand   
from her pilot. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you."  
Tom shook his head. "Nah, you didn't. Just don't tell   
B'Elanna about it and everything will be fine," he quipped. This   
remark eased the tension somewhat. While he was touching the   
device under his skin himself now, both of them made their minds   
up. And both of them knew what this was all about. They didn't   
share the memories of their capture by the Hirogen and their roles   
in their captors' sick game for nothing.  
"Computer, status," Kathryn demanded.  
The demand of the Captain remained unanswered.  
"We have to regain control of the ship, or at least of the   
holodeck," Kathryn decided. Without talking any further, they   
started to frisk for a removable panel in the wall. They had to be on   
a holodeck, there was no way anybody would put themselves into   
the trouble of rebuilding a terran mid-twentieth-century building in   
the middle of the Delta Quadrant. The Hirogen were far away from   
the homeworld to hunt other people down, so where could they set   
this up if not on Voyager?  
"Here, I've got it!" Tom whispered as lowly as he could.   
He had already removed the books hiding the access panel to   
holodeck control.  
"You won't need any help with this, will you?" Kathryn   
said, knowing Tom's skill at holodeck programming.  
"No, not really," Tom grinned, already engrossed in   
studying the configurations.  
"I'll watch our backs then," Kathryn told him. The patrol   
wasn't due in another quarter of an hour, that left them at least a   
little time. They could hide in here, Kathryn had made out some   
great places to hide on the way to the door.  
  
=/\=  
  
She stared wide-eyed at their unasked visitor. He was   
looming over them, the dim light pouring in from behind him   
silhouetted his tall frame with an eerie reddish glow. Neither Harry   
nor Seven could make out who he was with the comparably bright   
light in his back. Harry had a suspicion. It was confirmed when the   
visitor began to speak, in a benevolent tone even.  
"I'm sorry if I'm disturbing the two of you," he excused   
himself in a deep, pleasant voice. It was the voice of the Alpha   
Hirogen. Nobody knew it better than Harry. The young man tensed   
up a bit at first, but when he realized that the Hirogen was still   
playing the game, he relaxed somewhat. His senses and mind,   
however, remained alert.  
"Could I talk to you for a moment, Sir Harold?" the   
Hirogen disguised as King Richard Cœur-de-Lion asked.  
"Of course, Sire." Harry was all duty at once, pushing   
himself up from the dirt floor. He followed the King's gesture and   
met him outside the tent. The cool air outside was deliciously   
sweet after the stale smell in the tent. "How can I be of service to   
you, Sire?"  
"I want to give two or three of my falcons to Sultan   
Saladin," the Hirogen began. "I was wondering which ones were   
suitable. I don't want to give away my best ones, but neither do I   
want to insult the Sultan."  
"I understand," Harry said.  
"Well, I don't expect you to go and look at once, but I   
would appreciate it if you had chosen two or three by tomorrow   
morning," the Alpha said. Was there a mischievous twinkle in his   
small black eyes? Harry wasn't sure in the flickering light.  
"As you wish, Sire," the young man bowed.  
"Well then, good night." With this, the Hirogen turned on   
his heel and left Harry alone in front of the tent. He just couldn't   
believe it himself. The Alpha hadn't recognized that he wasn't   
under their control any more. It couldn't get any better. With a   
triumphant gesture he returned to the darkness of the tent.  
"What did he want?" Seven demanded.  
"Something he won't get, if we're lucky," Harry explained.   
"I'm pretty sure he won't disturb us again." This was invitation   
enough for Seven to resume her work on the access panel of the   
holodeck controls. In a matter of minutes she had rerouted the   
circuits.  
The safety protocols on their Holodeck were back online,   
and with any luck the Hirogen wouldn't recognize this. With the   
control to make minor changes in the detail of the program, they   
could consider this round won.  
  
=/\=  
  
"Well, it's at least something," the Doctor sighed. "Please   
ask Ensign Kim about his suspicion concerning the health of the   
gel-packs," he instructed Seven after she'd reported to him on the   
meanwhile so familiar bugproof channel. Carey was still with him   
in Sickbay, waiting no less eagerly for the Ensign's theory on the   
gel-packs. The sooner the engineer learned about the details the   
better. Maybe the infection of the gel-packs was serious enough to   
have the Hirogen end their sick games.  
"Doctor?" Seven asked after a while of silence.  
"We're listening, Seven," the Doctor assured her.  
"Ensign Kim doesn't know anything in particular about an   
infection of the gel-packs. It was just a suspicion he was having   
before he was sent to the holodeck," Seven reported.  
The Doctor sighed in frustration. "Thank you anyway,   
Seven. Doctor out."  
"How serious is the infection, Doctor?" Joe asked. "Is it as   
bad as it has been with Neelix' cheese?"  
"No, not yet, but ... " the Doctor's voice trailed off in mid-  
sentence. "You've just got me wondering, Lieutenant."  
Joe furrowed his brow in confusion. "And?" he pressed,   
when the Doctor didn't make a move to explain himself.  
"Do you still remember how vaccines work?" the Doctor   
asked him instead.  
"The pathogen is isolated, killed or weakened and   
injected," Joe recited well-behaved.  
"Exactly! If the pathogen from Neelix' cheese is the same   
or similar to the new one, we can fight the infection easily. Since   
it's airborne we'll just have to get it into ventilation and all gel-  
packs are taken care of," the Doctor explained.   
Carey went to the nearest computer console and searched   
the logs for the reports on the cheese. He found what he looked for   
in Neelix' collection of recipes. The Talaxian had produced the   
cheese himself by means of a bacteria culture. The bacterium was   
described very minutely in case it needed be synthesized   
artificially. "Here they are, Doctor!"  
The Doctor opened a window next to the display of the   
cheese bacterium and compared the new Hirogen bacterium with it.  
"They are identical!" the Doctor exclaimed in disbelief.   
"Well, so much the better, at least we can trust the gel-packs to   
take care of the Bacterium Casei Neelixis themselves. They fought   
them once, they should be able to fight them now since they know   
how to produce a counter-agent—without running a fever. Ha!"  
Meanwhile Joe had gone green and was looking disgusted.   
"I just remembered that I have actually tried some of this cheese."  
"So much the better, you won't get afflicted with this   
Hirogen cheese bacterium then."  
"It isn't harmful to humanoids, if I remember it correctly,"   
Carey shot back.  
For once, the Doctor was not the one to have the last word.   
Carey left Sickbay with a satisfied grin on his face that drove the   
greenish hue away.  
  
To be continued ... 


	12. Kein guter Abend

Disclaimer: see part 1  
  
Cœur de Lion  
By Katie  
  
Chapter 12  
Kein guter Abend  
(Not a Good Evening)  
  
"Pardon?" Chakotay looked quizzically at the German's   
face. His blue eyes were icy and piercing, he could imagine quite   
well what it meant to get into trouble with him. Brigitte's actions to   
get information from him seemed all the more brave to him now   
that he knew Brückner.  
"I said that I was quite certain that your first name was   
Maurice rather than François," Brückner repeated, pronouncing   
every word over-correctly as though he thought Chakotay were   
slow in understanding.  
"Of course it is," Chakotay said without hesitance, "I mean,   
they're both my first name. It's Maurice-François Leroux. I don't   
care what people call me."  
Brückner raised his eyebrows. "So. Then you'll certainly   
have nothing to object to showing me your passport?"  
Chakotay's expression remained calm. "Of course not,   
Hauptmann." He gave Brigitte's hands another squeeze and got up   
from his crouching position. "I'll go and get it for you in a minute."  
"Schön, I'll wait here," Brückner nodded. He looked as   
though he were sorry that Chakotay was having a reasonable   
explanation for the use of his names.  
Chakotay nodded and disappeared into the hall. On his way   
upstairs he tried to find a solution to his dilemma. After all he'd   
promised the German to show him his passport. But he had no idea   
whatsoever if Catherine still had Maurice's passport. In addition,   
he'd just made up the story about his first name, it could very well   
be that Catherine's late husband had had just Maurice as a first   
name. He'd have to come up with yet another solution in no time.  
Chakotay was halfway up the stairs, when someone called   
after him. "Monsieur Leroux!" When Chakotay turned and bent   
over the banister he recognized Sam Wildman standing in the   
dimly lit hall.  
"Yes?"  
Wildman was up the stairs in no time and pulled him after   
her by the sleeve. The door to Catherine's apartment wasn't locked,   
but after they'd made it into the tiny hall of it, Sam locked the door   
behind her.  
"What is it, Ensign?" Chakotay asked her in a hushed   
voice.  
"Thank God, it's working, Commander," Wildman sighed   
in open relief, leaning against the door. "I'll explain everything to   
you later. Now we'll just have to get you a valid passport."  
"How are going to do that?" Chakotay asked. He knew that   
they were obviously prisoners on their own vessel, locked into a   
place that was normally a place to relax and enjoy oneself.  
"We've gained limited access to the program's parameters.   
We wanted to put the security protocols back on line, but the   
access panel is without reach for us," Wildman started. "But this is   
already leading too far. Wildman to Doctor."  
"Doctor here," the disembodied voice of the Doctor replied   
over the secret commlink.  
"We'll need a passport for Maurice-François Leroux. Add   
his personal data to a passport of occupied France during World   
War II," Wildman asked.  
"I'll hack into the Hirogen's files, that'll take me a minute,"   
the Doctor allowed. "So I take it our little plan's working?"  
"It'd be perfect if we could get access to security   
protocols," Sam sighed. "Naomi's just fine, by the way. She doesn't   
remember anything about being brainwashed by the Hirogen."  
"Thank Goodness. I'm done here, Ensign. The passport   
should materialize in a second," the Doctor announced. "Doctor   
out."  
Just like the hologram had announced did the passport   
materialize in mid-air between them. Chakotay caught it before it   
fell down. He flipped it open and checked on Maurice's data.   
"Good work. We could've needed a forger like him with the   
Maquis," Chakotay observed dryly.  
Sam laughed tenuously. Then she suggested getting back.   
"I take it we'll pretend that we're still under the control of their   
neural interfaces?"  
"That'd be the wisest thing to do. So it's technology they   
used," Chakotay said, his tone sad.  
Back in the night club, Chakotay went straight to Brückner   
who'd returned to his secluded spot in the corner of the room   
together with his friends. Brigitte he had left sitting by herself at   
the bar, still pale and looking somewhat shaky. Chakotay asked   
himself when B'Elanna would regain her consciousness. He hoped   
that she'd make no big deal of it. Tuvok, acting as bartender Paul,   
didn't look like he'd regained his consciousness by now. But it   
couldn't be long anymore, Wildman had explained it to him on   
their way back down.  
"Et voilà, Hauptmann," Chakotay said, passing the   
document to Brückner. The German accepted it, flipped it open and   
studied it intently, comparing the face on the black and white   
photograph with the face of the man standing in front of him.   
Chakotay noticed his eyes scanning for and reading the name. It   
almost appeared as if Brückner were really disappointed when he   
realized that Chakotay had just told him the truth. The Commander   
winked at the Ensign over the German's shoulder.  
"Make sure to keep the passport with you. You might be   
controlled more often in the future," Brückner said, muscles   
working in his jaw as a means to suppress his anger.  
"Bien entendu, Hauptmann. If you'll excuse me, I'll have to   
look after my friend," Chakotay bowed slightly at the waist and left   
the corner. He let the passport disappear in the depths of his   
trousers' pocket.  
B'Elanna watched Chakotay approach, not quite sure what   
to make of the situation they were in. At first, she thought she were   
dreaming, but the surroundings were just too perfect and too real to   
be the images of a dream. She blinked once, twice to make sure her   
senses weren't playing a practical joke on her, but they weren't.   
There was Tuvok standing behind the counter, dressed into a white   
tuxedo. Chakotay, dressed in black trousers, a white shirt and   
suspenders, approached her. Sam Wildman was standing next to   
the piano man. Then it hit her like lightning when she remembered   
her last waking minutes as B'Elanna Torres.  
Her sudden realization must have caused an open display   
of emotions in her face, for Chakotay crouched in front of her and   
called her softly by the name her mother had given her.  
"What's going on here, Chakotay?" she softly asked,   
assessing the situation from the corners of her eyes. There were no   
Hirogen in here. At least one good sign. Or was it?  
"I'll explain later. Wildman is also awake. Tuvok still   
seems to be under the Hirogen's control. We think it'd be best just   
to keep playing the game," Chakotay whispered to her. Since he   
tried to calm his friend down, nobody in the room frowned at the   
intimacy of their talking.  
"What about Naomi, is she all right? And Seven?"  
"Naomi's okay, but I don't know about Seven," Chakotay   
said.  
Then B'Elanna noticed her belly. "What's that supposed to   
mean?" she growled.  
"That you're nine months pregnant," Chakotay chuckled.   
"Don't worry, it's just a projection."  
"And a damn good one it is. The baby even kicks,"   
B'Elanna noticed when she felt the holographic child kick her in   
the liver. She grimaced and winced convincingly. Chakotay   
touched her arm to console her a little bit at least. Considering the   
mind controlling devices the Hirogen had it was little surprise that   
they could create such a realistic holographic pregnancy.  
"The Doctor's working on getting us out of here," he   
offered.  
"He'd better work on getting that child out of me,"   
B'Elanna murmured.  
  
=/\=  
  
"Guten Abend."  
Kathryn spun around and froze. She'd turned her back on   
the door for the matter of a second only, just to check on the   
progress Tom was making. He'd reported to her earlier that safety   
protocols were off line and that it was his main aim to get them   
back on line. The holographic Nazis and the Hirogen must have   
been watching them for quite some time now, waiting for the right   
moment to come out of their hiding places.  
Kathryn braced herself, squaring her shoulders and setting   
her jaw. She decided that it be best if she kept acting like Catherine   
Leroux. Whatever plan people were working on to get them out of   
here was fine with her and she didn't want to spoil it—maybe she   
could explain the open hatch by means of secret German   
technology. "Messieurs," she returned.  
Paris hadn't turned when the Hirogen and the Nazi guard   
had entered the Hauptmann's office. From the corner of her eye   
Janeway had noticed that her pilot wanted to keep working as long   
as possible. She knew that he'd been close to putting the safety   
protocols back on line, and that he wasn't going to stop. Kathryn   
didn't know what she would do without him.  
"So, finally we get to know each other," Sarpa dryly said.   
"I didn't know the leader of the Résistance was such a particularly   
beautiful woman."  
Kathryn lowered her head and looked at the hunter with   
her death glare from beneath her lashes. "Of course you didn't."  
Sarpa smiled his lipless smile. "Schell, get that guy away   
from those books!" He barked at one of the holographic soldiers   
and gestured for Kathryn to hand over her gun. With her back   
turned on Tom she couldn't see what was going on. But from what   
she could hear she knew that Tom still wasn't giving in. The dumb   
noise when fist meets jaw and Tom's howl of frustration told her   
that he'd knocked Schell down. The German collapsed to the floor   
and took a vase with him that was standing on a small table nearby.   
The porcelain shattered into a million pieces on the wooden floor.  
"Stand back or I'll shoot her!" Sarpa snapped at Tom. He   
wanted to keep his sick little game up for a while, even if his urge   
to kill those two was almost overwhelming his senses.  
Tom exchanged two more isolinear chips before he yelled   
at Janeway to get down. Before either Janeway or Sarpa realized   
what Paris meant, did the wall around the access panel explode.   
The shock wave threw Kathryn and Tom to the ground. At the   
same time Sarpa developed a nervous trigger finger. A shot went   
off from his gun, but the sound was muffled by the shrieking of the   
bulkheads as the massive explosion ripped the wall between the   
corridor and the holodeck open. Tom managed to creep to Janeway   
in time before the debris started raining down on them. He pulled   
her halfway to the desk of the radio operator and shielded her with   
his body.  
In contrast to Sarpa they were lucky. The Hirogen hadn't   
realized soon enough what was going on. A piece from the   
bulkhead had penetrated his thick armadillo skin and probably his   
skull as well. The lower half of his body was buried beneath a thick   
beam of duranium that had come down from the ceiling. The room   
was covered in a mixture of debris from the building and Voyager.  
When the dust had settled, Tom carefully lifted his weight   
off Kathryn's body. It seemed like an eternity before she moved,   
and Tom had the worst suspicions about her stillness. But then   
Kathryn turned around and propped herself up on one elbow with a   
groan.  
"Are you all right, Captain?" Tom asked in concern.  
"Oh, my leg," Kathryn said softly, running one of her   
hands down to her left thigh. She felt something warm and wet   
beneath her fingers.  
Tom bowed over her and examined the wound in the   
flickering light of the broken hologrid. "That damn bastard must   
have hit you before he went down," he murmured. He produced a   
white hankie from the pocket of his trousers. Then he ripped away   
as much cloth from around the wound as possible and gently   
pressed the hankie on it. It was soaked red in no time. Kathryn lay   
back and winced at the pain.  
"So you didn't get the safety protocols back on line," she   
observed.  
Ripping part of the leg of her trousers into stripes, Tom   
answered: "I'm sorry he hit you, but otherwise he wouldn't be dead   
by now. There, this pressure bandage should help stop the   
bleeding. I just hope Chakotay won't space me."  
"Why's that?" Kathryn smiled, gritting her teeth.  
"I promised him to take good care of you."  
"You did, you probably saved my life," Kathryn realized   
all of a sudden. "Thank you."  
"Don't mention it. Do you think you can walk? The   
Hirogen will be here soon," Tom dismissed. It was only natural to   
save his Captain's life, it wasn't as if he'd had abundant time   
pondering what was to be done. He felt like he'd blush any second.  
"I think so, yes," Kathryn nodded. She had to use the pain   
for her own ends, turning it into the strength she'd need to get   
away. She knew it was going to work, it had been the power that   
had kept her alive on Tau Ceti Prime. Gratefully she accepted her   
pilot's proffered hand and let him pull her to her feet. She grimaced   
when she put weight on her injured leg, but it worked. Once again   
her determination was stronger than her body.  
"You go to Sickbay, I'll check on the guys in the *Cœur de   
Lion*," Tom decided.  
A faint smile graced Kathryn's pale lips then. "Is this an   
order?" The humor in her voice could hardly be ignored, yet did   
Tom answer very seriously: "No, it's concern for a dear friend."  
  
=/\=  
  
The Hirogen dressed up as a German soldier of World War   
II was hunting her down the debris-scattered corridors of Voyager.   
Kathryn couldn't remember where or when the Hirogen had spotted   
her walking down the corridor. All she cared about now was how   
to get away from him and to Sickbay. At least she succeeded in   
leading him around in circles. Maybe someone would spot them   
through the hole in the wall and help her. If this someone was not a   
Hirogen, that was.  
The air was loaded with evil-smelling gases given off   
hissing by circuits that normally were hidden behind the gray   
panels of the bulkheads. With the explosion Tom had caused, he   
had not only blown up the Hirogen's control over the holodecks,   
but he'd also hurt their ship. Her intestines were laid open now, so   
to speak, with all the conduits and hoses hanging from the ceiling,   
in danger of being cut through by the sharp edges of the burst   
metal.  
The gray carpeting was littered with little pieces of debris.   
Every step she took made a crunching sound beneath the heels of   
her shoes. This made it easy for her pursuer to follow, it was as   
though she were leaving crumbs of bread behind.   
The blood was roaring in her ears, urging her on, a   
welcome excuse to ignore the throbbing pain in her left thigh. Her   
black, blood-soaked pair of trousers was sticking to her skin, and   
with every step she took she was reminded that she should have   
gone to Sickbay instead of running away from it. The pressure   
bandage Tom had made earlier was also soaked through by now.   
She needed rest.  
She turned around the corner. This corridor would take her   
to an access hatch of Jeffries Tube 146, from which she could get   
to an equipment locker that held a phaser. But she never got access   
to it. The space in front of the hatch was blocked by a beam and   
half of the ceiling of the surrounding area. There was no way for   
her to get through it. She was trapped.  
The Hirogen was right behind her. Escape was impossible.   
The alien dressed in the ancient uniform was towering over her, his   
lip-less mouth curled up in what seemed to be an extremely vicious   
smile. Kathryn felt as though her body and mind were paralyzed.   
She couldn't move or make a straight thought. Since when was   
Kathryn Janeway the one to be paralyzed by her fear? Perhaps it   
was because she knew exactly what was going to happen now. The   
Hirogen would kill her.  
With a swift motion the Hirogen pulled a wicked-looking   
knife from the leg of his left boot. He held it in mid-air, pointing it   
directly at her throat. She took as many steps backwards as she   
could. Her fingers clenched the debris. The pain in her leg and her   
hands were gone. All that existed was the fear of dying. Never   
before had it been that strong as it was now.  
What kind of captain was she? Afraid of a wanna-be Nazi   
villain who threatened her with a knife? Hell, she'd faced far worse   
situations before, so what was wrong with her now?  
The Hirogen slowly took a few steps toward her, his huge   
frame casting its shadow on her.  
"Please don't kill me." The beg came over her lips in a   
whisper. She felt her heart go to her feet, flooding the pit of her   
stomach with pure fear. "Please, don't do this, please." Tears were   
streaming down her cheeks now, but the sobs caught in her throat,   
making her choke on her own fear.  
The Hirogen didn't say anything. He withdrew his knife, let   
his armored arm hang next to his body. A smile slowly found its   
way to her face, tugged tentatively at the corners of her lips,   
pulling them up into a smile of true gratitude.  
The smile froze on her lips as she felt the cold blade of the   
knife buried deep within her, stabbing the pain. She let go of the   
debris, looking first at her cut palms, then at the dagger that had   
been driven into her belly up to the hilt. The fear and gratitude in   
her eyes changed into disbelief. Her head was beginning to swim,   
her knees gave way and slowly she slid to her knees, the torn metal   
of the ceiling cutting the back of her blouse.  
Red warmth spilled into her mouth, and as she opened it to   
let out a mumbled question, her life started pouring from her in a   
constant purple red stream.  
Then everything around her went black in the white heat of   
her pain. The fear was gone. Now she wanted it to come back.   
Better making a fool of herself in her fear than bearing this white   
heat of pain searing through her body.  
  
=/\=  
  
Nobody knew what was going on when suddenly all of the   
Hirogen fell down. They fell although nothing had happened to   
them at all, at least nothing one could see. The crusaders thought   
that it was some kind of Saracen black magic that had killed them.   
When word spread that even the King had been killed, they fell   
into despair.  
What they didn't know was that the Hirogen had just fallen   
asleep where they were standing. The Doctor had worked this   
black magic. He was still standing in front of his console, smiling   
in deep satisfaction as the computer listed every single Hirogen   
that fell asleep upon his order. The solution had been so simple. If   
he could awake his crewmates from their true personas' sleep, he   
could as well sent the Hirogen to sleep. And he'd achieved all of   
this by the same means, namely by Seven's nanoprobes. They'd   
once saved Harry Kim's and Neelix' lives, so why not use them   
again? The prospect of having to treat the crew afterwards with   
drugs that swept the Borg version of nanites out of their systems   
seemed a cheap price to pay in comparison to the alternatives—  
particularly when there were no acceptable alternatives.  
The Doctor had remembered Captain Jean-Luc Picard's   
command that had put the Borg out of action after the battle at   
Wolf 359. It had been the simple command of sending the Borg to   
sleep—or regeneration, as Seven would prefer to refer to Borg   
sleep. With the Hirogen out of the way, they could regain control   
of their ship. He'd already deactivated the shields in the brig and to   
crews' quarters, and had sent a note what was to be done next to all   
terminals.  
Unfortunately was his action of rescue a little too late for   
the Captain of Voyager. The Hirogen who had been after her had   
already buried his knife in her stomach when he finally fell asleep.  
The explosion hadn't only ripped open the wall between   
the holodeck and the corridor, but between two adjacent holodecks   
as well. By now confused French from Ste Claire were meeting   
even more confused English and French crusaders in Acre. They   
could walk freely between the two holodecks, but they couldn't   
leave them.  
The tent of the King had collapsed under the power of the   
shock wave. Now, Harry and Seven were crawling out from under   
the heavy purple tarpaulin. They hadn't suffered any injuries,   
which was the best proof for the functioning of the safety protocols   
they could get. When they saw the mess and confusion around   
them, it wasn't hard to realize what had happened. "Oh my God,"   
Harry murmured beneath his breath. He watched a knight taking a   
few tentative steps towards one of the Nazis.  
"Seven! Harry!" somebody yelled from the unbelievable   
noise that had arisen as soon as the first confusion was gone. Seven   
heard Tom Paris calling their names. Her more sophisticated Borg   
hearing ability proved useful yet again. Eventually, she could make   
out Paris running across Ste Claire's market place, Commanders   
Chakotay and Tuvok following suit.  
When Tom finally joined them, he was struggling for air.   
"Quick, Seven, the Captain is somewhere out there trying to get to   
Sickbay. She's severely injured," he managed to say between   
gasps.   
"What the hell made you leave the Captain alone in her   
condition?" Chakotay barked at Tom. The last time Chakotay had   
given him such a dressing down had been when they'd first met on   
Voyager's bridge, right after Tom had shopped his former Maquis   
cell. The fact that the Commander was so upset now sent shivers   
down the young man's spine. It was an open secret that there was   
*something* going on between the two commanding officers, yet   
did nobody know exactly what this *something* was. Tom realized   
now that this *something* was the same something that had   
developed between himself and B'Elanna.  
"I ...," Tom shook his head, "I'm sorry, I don't know. I just   
wanted to make sure you were safe."  
Chakotay breathed deeply. "I understand. B'Elanna is fine,   
Wildman is with her and Naomi." Frankly, if he'd been in Tom's   
place, he'd have acted just like that. After all Kathryn was made of   
stern stuff, especially her determination. Chakotay couldn't really   
blame the pilot. He clapped his shoulder in a forgiving manner.   
"Now let's get started."  
Then they separated and ran off into different directions to   
look for their Captain, almost tripping over sleeping Hirogen every   
now and then. They didn't have to look for Kathryn very long.   
Seven found her in a near corridor. It was severely damaged, in   
fact, it couldn't have been damaged by the explosion Lieutenant   
Paris had caused. But that remained to be explained later. The   
Captain had been damaged as well, but other than the corridor she   
needed to be taken care of as soon as possible. Noticing the blood   
and state of unconsciousness of her commanding officer, Seven   
asked the Doctor for an emergency beam-out to Sickbay. Thanks to   
his far-sightedness Carey and his team had regained transporter   
control as soon as the Hirogen had been put out of action.  
  
=/\=  
  
Tom met B'Elanna halfway across the central square of Ste   
Claire. Seven had made a shipwide announcement that they'd   
gained the upper hand and that Janeway had been brought to   
Sickbay, so the two women and Naomi had deemed it safe to leave   
the *Cœur de Lion*. When Tom realized what his girl-friend   
looked like, he just couldn't believe his eyes. The last time he'd   
seen B'Elanna she hadn't been nine months pregnant. And since the   
Hirogen had only seized Voyager three weeks ago, he was sure that   
her pregnancy belonged to her role in this setting. Nevertheless did   
he embrace her tenderly.  
"My God, B'Elanna!" he whispered in her ear when he   
finally held her in his arms. The words of her letter still in mind, he   
almost felt like Bobby Davies.  
The fierceness with which she returned the hug didn't   
surprise him. "Tom."  
Naomi was staring wide-eyed at the couple. She just   
couldn't believe that someone like the engineer woman was loved   
by a man, especially by Uncle Tom, who was always so nice to   
her. Suddenly, she felt a pair of hands settle on her shoulders. She   
turned her head and looked up at her mother. "Come on, little one,   
let's leave the two of them alone," she said softly.  
Just after the Wildmans had left, did the Doctor demand   
Tom's attention. "Lieutenant Paris, I'll need you immediately in   
Sickbay. Doctor out." The Hologram didn't even leave time for him   
to acknowledge the order.  
"I'll come with you. I don't have a particularly good feeling   
about this," B'Elanna resolved, pointing at her prominent belly.  
"It's just a holographic projection, honey," Tom soothed   
her. "And it suits you quite well."  
B'Elanna glared at him. "Yeah, so well that it's actually   
kicking my guts out!"  
Tom sighed and grabbed her by the hand. The Doctor had   
sounded like this was a real bad emergency, so he didn't want to let   
him wait longer than necessary. He'd had enough of his lectures in   
the past few weeks. Besides, it couldn't do any harm if B'Elanna   
went with him. If her team needed her, they'd have to contact her   
anyway.  
  
=/\=  
  
Knowing that Kathryn was in the safe haven of the   
Doctor's Sickbay, Chakotay turned at the matters at hand. Together   
with Tuvok he discussed their course of action. A full report of all   
departments as to what had happened in the last three weeks would   
have to wait. Nobody knew exactly for how long the Doctor had   
sent the Hirogen to sleep, so they had to take care of them first.   
They beamed them into Cargobay 1 and left them heavily guarded   
under the surveillance of Tuvok's security team. Meanwhile,   
Chakotay took over command over their ship and reestablished the   
former command codes. Before the Hirogen on the ships   
surrounding Voyager could realize what had happened to their   
comrades on the alien vessel, Chakotay and the bridge crew were   
already keeping them stalled.  
But the people working in Sickbay didn't know any of this,   
they had more important matters that needed taken care of. The   
moment Seven had beamed to Sickbay together with the Captain,   
the Doctor knew that he wouldn't be able to tend to her injuries   
alone. He needed the help of Tom Paris, no matter how annoying   
the pilot could be at times. Seven simply had too little expertise in   
assisting him, whereas Paris already knew what needed to be done,   
he knew about how the Doctor proceeded.  
Especially now this know-how was essential. The injuries   
the Captain had suffered weren't ones starship captains usually   
happened to be injured with. Stab wounds weren't that exceptional,   
he had to admit that, but bullet wounds were quite unusual these   
days.   
"Seven, please hand me the cortical stimulator over there   
and then get back to the bridge," the Doctor murmured, carefully   
adjusting the still form of Kathryn Janeway on the biobed of the   
main surgery area.  
"You will require assistance for the Captain's surgery,"   
Seven observed, wiping her blood stained hands on a towel.  
"Yes, I've already contacted Mr Paris. He's on his way   
here," the Doctor replied, removing the soaked pressure bandage   
from his patient's leg.  
"And here I am," Paris announced in an almost too cheerful   
manner. B'Elanna walked in right behind him as fast as she could   
considering her condition. The Doctor, however, didn't notice the   
Chief Engineer's blessed condition, he was already too engrossed   
in his work.  
She just received a quizzically raised eyebrow of her   
special friend, before the former Borg left Sickbay.  
"My God!" Tom blanched when he saw Janeway lying on   
the biobed. "I shouldn't have ever left her alone."  
The Doctor frowned and studied him with his dark eyes.   
"Mr Paris, whether this is your fault or not remains to be   
unanswered for the time being. Now, pull yourself together and   
lend me a hand, maybe it helps soothing your conscience."  
Tom merely nodded. Janeway's pallor was frightening,   
particularly with the bright red blood everywhere that just helped   
to make her look even worse. Tom grabbed the towel Seven had   
used earlier and began to clean the worst up, so that the Doctor was   
able to examine the wounds. In no time at all, Tom had undressed   
her to her underwear and had treated the wounds with an antiseptic.   
When he discovered her cut palms, he reached for a dermal   
regenerator. The simple golden band that graced her left ring finger   
didn't go unnoticed. A timid smile tugged at the voluntary nurse's   
lips. Whatever had gone on the holodeck between the Captain and   
the Commander was none of his business. Tom didn't comment on   
his discovery and left the wedding ring where it was. Maybe it was   
just a part of Catherine Leroux' character, who was he to tell.  
"The bullet hit the femur," the Doctor explained.   
Meanwhile he'd finished his preparations for the surgery. "Well,   
whatever it is, the Captain goes for all or nothing. We'll have to   
perform a classical surgery, Lieutenant, I hope you're up to it."   
"She's the Captain," Tom merely said. He turned around to   
look after B'Elanna. She'd made herself comfortable on one of the   
vacant biobeds and had curled up into a sleeping position. She was   
already deeply asleep by now. Tom wondered if after all this was   
just a bad dream, hoping that none of this was true once he woke   
again. But he had to endure this a little bit longer. Murphy willing,   
he wouldn't wake before Chakotay would have gotten his chance to   
read him the riot act.  
  
To be continued ... 


	13. Things That Need Discussing

Disclaimer: see part 1  
  
Coeur de Lion  
By Katie  
  
Chapter 13  
Things That Need Discussing  
  
Ysakc was the first of the Hirogen to wake from their forced nap. He opened his eyes, letting the optical nerves adjust   
themselves to the brightness of the place he was. When he finally   
could keep his eyes open without having to squint, he found the   
muzzle of a phaser rifle pointed at his chest. The rifle was held by   
a dark skinned Federation officer in a yellow uniform. Ysakc   
raised his hands in an appeasing manner.  
"I'm not going to do anything against you, Federation," he   
assured him, knowing that the universal translator in the   
Federations' communicators would translate his words faithfully.  
The crewman didn't reply anything. Instead, he tapped his   
communicator. "Rolle to Tuvok."  
"Tuvok here," answered the Chief of Security's   
disembodied voice."Sir, the Hirogen's medical officer has just regained consciousness," Rolle informed his superior.  
  
"Bring him to the Captain's Ready Room," ordered Tuvok.  
  
The commlink broken, Rolle gestured for the Hirogen to stand. When Ysakc stood, he   
recognized all of the boarding party's members lying in this room in rows. One of them was covered with a gray blanket. His gaze quickly scanned the still forms of his fellow warriors. He was relieved to see that Kaar was not dead.   
Things could have gotten complicated in this case, particularly   
Sarpa Tarench.  
The doors to the Cargobay hissed open and allowed a Security team of four to enter. "Commander Tuvok wants this   
Hirogen to be escorted to the Captain's Ready Room," Rolle   
informed his colleagues.  
"My name is Ysakc, I'm their Medic," Ysakc told them. He   
knew that Kaar would want to try a new first contact with the   
Federations if possible. Now that he was given the chance to do so,   
Ysakc decided it best to act on his Alpha's orders and wishes.  
Neither of the five men in yellow said anything in return.   
They just gestured for him to accompany them. Two of them were walking in front of him, the other two were following him, their phaser rifles at the ready. Ysakc found this humiliating, but taken what they'd done to the Federations, he considered it only just that the tables were turned now. So he didn't object. On the contrary, he tried to try everything possible that was within his power to get into negotiations with Captain Janeway. The way to her Ready   
Room seemed to be longer now than he remembered it to be, probably because now it was him who had to obey.To his surprise were Commanders Tuvok and Chakotay   
awaiting him in the Captain's place. He quickly recognized that   
Kaar's trophies had been removed from the walls. The room   
seemed more spacious now, and definitely colder. Two of his   
guards remained posted outsides, whereas the other two followed   
him into the room.  
"I'm Commander Chakotay," the dark-haired man with the   
tattoo on his left temple introduced himself.From what Ysakc knew about the Federations' etiquette, he   
was supposed to introduce himself now. "Ysakc S'huna, Medic," he said curtly, trying to add a conversational touch to his tone. Much was at stake here, that much he knew. Just how much was yet to be seen.  
  
"Well, Mr S'huna, I guess you owe us an explanation to this, and above all," Chakotay added, "a suggestion as to how you   
think you're going to compensate for the damage you've done.""I understand, Commander," Ysakc nodded. "I'd prefer it if   
you called me Ysakc, this is the name by which we are used to   
address each other. May I ask where Captain Janeway is?"  
  
Chakotay hesitated for a split second. Instead, Tuvok   
answered him: "The Captain has decided that the Commander   
handle this."  
Ysakc didn't buy the excuse. He knew Chakotay, and he   
knew Captain Janeway. They were more than fellow officers and   
friends, they were bonded to each other in a way that was beyond   
his understanding. Kaar had tried to explain the concept of love to   
him, but they'd been interrupted and afterwards there hadn't been a   
chance to resume the conversation. The Hirogen Medic immediately understood, though, that the Commander's silence ran deeper than the Vulcan's excuse. "Captain Janeway has been   
injured, I presume.""That need not concern you, Mr Ysakc," Tuvok decided, his voice calm but his hint unequivocal.  
  
The Commander's opinion on this matter was another one, though. He rose from the Captain's chair and circled the desk to stand in front of the Hirogen Medic. Chakotay was a tall man, as   
was Tuvok, and yet did the Hirogen stand one head taller than them. Even Klingons weren't a match to them. "Yes, Tuvok, I think   
that that actually does need concern Mr Ysakc," Chakotay objected   
calmly. "The Captain isn't here because our Doctor is trying to save   
her life. One of your friends has hunted her down just before we   
could get a hold of you. She is the last on a very long list of   
casualties our crew had to suffer because of your insatiable blood   
thirst. Many of the names on this list appear as often as four times,   
some of them thanks to your medical expertise on human   
physiology, or rather lack thereof. Our ship is a wreck, the damage will take weeks to be repaired. We're running low on energy and   
we don't have the material necessary to do all of the repairs.   
  
Don't you think that need concern him, Tuvok?"The Vulcan just cocked an eyebrow at his superior's short   
list of damage and casualties. Ysakc did the equal to the   
Federations' swallowing hard. As far as he as a Medic knew, was this list the Commander had just given him more than incomplete.   
On the other hand he wasn't sure how much the Federations really   
knew about what they had been done to.  
"I'm sorry to hear that, Commander," Ysakc said.  
"That'll sure help us repair our ship," Chakotay hissed with   
a stinging sarcasm that was so untypical for him and as of yet   
unknown to the Starfleet crew.  
"If you'll let me explain," Ysakc tried to defend himself.   
"Please."  
Something in Tuvok told him that they should hear the   
Hirogen out, and he was about to tell the Commander, when Chakotay began: "Go ahead. The Captain always listens to both   
sides of the story, so how can I deny you the chance to explain yourself."Tuvok's eyebrow rose even higher. Once again he'd   
underestimated the Commander. The whole situation threatened to   
get the best of all of them, so he couldn't blame Chakotay for   
falling back into old Maquis habits. After all, he'd known him back then, and so he knew that the Dorvanian always tried to be just. Sometimes this character trait would surface at the eleventh hour,   
but so far Tuvok could always rely on it. He couldn't help   
commenting on the Commander's decision, though.  
"In dubio pro reo."  
  
=/\=  
  
"Thank you, Lieutenant, for helping me," the Doctor said,   
watching his student close the wound in the Captain's stomach.   
After Tom had healed the last of the injured skin tissue with the   
dermal regenerator, the Doctor applied a compress in the injured   
spot and fixed it with a sticking plaster. Catching the Lieutenant's   
asking glance from beneath his lashes, the Hologram explained   
himself. "The compress is warming the wound, and at the same   
time is constantly giving off medication that kills the pain and prevents inflammation. Even in the 24th century, this kind of   
treatment couldn't be made redundant by the progress of medicine."  
  
"But it makes bed rest necessary," Tom pointed out. "How do you think you can keep Janeway from getting up?"The Doctor raised an eyebrow at this and shook his head   
sadly. "I'm afraid, we'll have to inform the Commander that for the time being it's necessary to put the Captain into artificial coma.""I understand," Tom nodded. "I'll take of her now, Doctor.   
Maybe you could look after B'Elanna, she's very upset about her   
holographic pregnancy." He ripped a stripe of plaster off the roll   
and fixed with it the compress the Doctor had prepared for the   
bullet wound in her thigh. He struggled dressing her in one of the   
blue medical gowns and carried her to the biobed next to   
B'Elanna's. After he'd covered her with a blanket he turned around   
to look after his girlfriend.   
  
The Doctor had woken her for his examination. B'Elanna's   
hands were resting on her chest, and she kept looking at the ceiling.   
When she recognized Tom standing next to her, she smiled. "How's the Captain doing?""She'll recover soon," Tom informed her. "You can induce the artificial coma, Doctor," he added.  
  
But the Hologram only nodded absentmindedly. He put the   
tricorder away he'd been using for his examination and started to   
palpate B'Elanna's swollen belly through her 1940's style maternity   
dress. B'Elanna looked at him curiously. Since when did a   
holographic projection need palpating? Something within her told   
her that this wasn't quite right. She gladly accepted Tom's proffered   
hand.  
"Doctor, what is it?" Tom urged the hologram to tell them.   
He too was growing nervous.  
Finally, the Doctor finished his examination and looked at   
them. "This is not a holographic projection, Lieutenants. Miss   
Torres is really pregnant," the Doctor told them, obviously not   
quite knowing which tone to choose. "I guess congratulations are   
in order?"  
  
=/\=  
  
Time had no meaning. It seemed to stretch into eternity and last only for the blink of an eye at the same heartbeat. It took   
the couple several heartbeats to realize what the words of the Doctor meant. When they exchanged glances, the cerulean eyes of the man were as dumbfounded as the umber eyes of the woman. They were going to be parents, but they had no idea how they'd   
managed to do so. They knew of course about the theory, and   
they'd already had lots of practice in it, too. But with the help of Starfleet's finest medical technology they'd always taken care not   
to become parents. They wanted to have a child one day, but not   
now. They'd wanted to wait for the right moment, they'd wanted to   
make this very important choice for themselves.  
But as it appeared, the choice had already been made for   
them. Their hands joined on the swell of her belly, wanting to   
touch the fact that sounded so completely unbelievable. It was   
there, the child, cradled safely and securely in the generous warmth   
of its mother's womb. And they could hear its heartbeat, which was   
somewhat irregular, but otherwise it sounded strong and healthy.  
  
A million questions were on the tips of their tongues, but they didn't seem able to articulate any of them. The Doctor then decided the relieve them of their misery. "The Hirogen must have done it," he began, and with that, the dams of the couple's speechlessness were broken.  
  
"We were on contraceptives, the two of us!" the half-Klingon woman whispered, her voice flat with disbelief.The Hologram nodded, his lips pressed together to form a   
thin line. "They have broken them off, taken a sample of your DNA, Lieutenant Paris, and impregnated Miss Torres with it. Why   
I don't know."  
  
B'Elanna looked at Tom, tightening her grip around his   
hand.   
  
"How long ... I mean ..."  
  
"It's been only twenty days, but somehow they've managed   
to increase the growth of the fetus in a way that by now you're   
nearing the due date. It's somehow ironic, considering they don't   
seem to be able to treat human injuries properly," the Doctor   
added.  
  
"What about the child? Is it all right?" Tom wanted to   
know. It was all he could do not to grab the tricorder and take some   
readings himself.The silence that settled in the room was almost as oppressive as the noonday heat in Ste Claire. Tom had relieved the   
Doctor of the most recent dilemma he'd had to face, and maybe the   
most difficult since the Hirogen's take-over. The question was whether or not to tell the couple about the health—or rather lack   
thereof—of their unborn child, and if so he'd have had to find the   
right moment. But now the decision had been made for him, and so   
the Doctor couldn't but tell them what he knew. The Hologram   
hadn't felt that wretched in a long time.  
"No, it's not, I'm afraid," he began, waiting for the couple's   
reaction. Now his question about congratulations being in order seemed the most stupid thing he'd ever said, but he couldn't take it back anymore. Once again he was being reminded of still having to learn a lot about proper bedside-manner. And he wanted to teach   
Seven about the finesse of humanity and being human? What   
pathetic an irony that was. "The increased growth of the fetus   
hasn't allowed it to develop properly."B'Elanna looked at the Hologram askance, not quite certain how to deal with what she'd just been told. This was difficult for all of them, but why did the Doctor have to make it worse by being that hesitant? The young engineer took a deep breath to steady   
herself before she asked the Doctor to tell them everything, without   
holding back any information. This was still so abstract, it almost   
sounded as if they were talking about any baby, but not theirs.  
"Well, its brain and organs are underdeveloped, and there's   
nothing I could do about that," the Doctor said. "His life   
expectancy will not exceed more than ten days."  
"So it's a boy," Tom observed. For the first time since   
they'd been having this conversation it seemed real. Now that they knew about the child's sex, it appeared to Tom that they couldn't talk about it in an objective way any longer. The child had become   
a person, somebody who needed their help. He was part of their   
lives now.  
It was their son they were talking about.B'Elanna's head swam. If only Tom hadn't said this simple sentence. It consisted of only four little words, but those four little   
words had changed her point of view completely. Now she couldn't ignore the reality of her situation. She was really carrying their child, and it was only a matter of maybe not even hours until she   
would hold this reality in her arms.  
  
She wasn't sure if she wanted any children, had never been.   
Her own childhood hadn't been easy, and she wasn't sure she wanted to burden an innocent child with having to bear with her as its mother. But now that she was irrevocably confronted with her   
own child, she wasn't so sure of her opinion any more.  
Anger rose from deep within her. Her son wasn't meant to   
be, and to make sure that his life didn't shake up things too much,   
he was taken the right to live before he was even born. What kind   
of sick idea was this? Why creating a child just to let it die shortly   
after its birth? If it hadn't been for the Hirogen's responsibility on   
that matter, B'Elanna would have changed her doubt in God into denial of his existence.   
  
"Yes, it's your son," the Doctor nodded. He was surprised at the calm of the two young officers, he'd expected at least   
B'Elanna to react heavily to the news. But somehow her   
motherhood seemed to bring her human side to the surface. This   
was at least a little good this entire story had in it. He tried to flash   
the couple an encouraging and compassionate smile, then turned   
away from them to grant them some privacy. After all there was   
another patient who needed his attention. He administered the   
hypospray Tom had prepared earlier, and induced Janeway's   
artificial coma.  
But he never forgot about the little boy who'd been created   
and yet wasn't allowed to live.  
=/\=  
  
  
"We haven't always been the violent species that we are   
now," Ysakc began his explanation. It was a difficult task for him   
to tell the history of his people in as few as possible words and yet   
have the Federations get the right impression of their motifs. He'd   
never done this before, at least not to prey. But actually, the   
Federations weren't their prey anymore, thanks to their cunning and strong determination and will to survive. To Ysakc's surprise were the expressions on the faces of the two men open-minded, or at least did he hope so. The two commanders were studying him intently, not breaking eye-contact   
with him for a single second. There was nothing hostile in their   
eyes, though. From the very beginning, Ysakc had been fascinated   
by the high variety of emotions that mirrored themselves in the   
eyes of the Federations, and the control they had over them.  
  
"We once were a peaceful species, but like your people, struggles about food and territory made us violent. This had led us   
to a point where we became addicted to killing. From that point on,   
our culture decayed, and our people left our homeworld to find   
other prey. None of our scientists has ever tried to find a cure,"   
Ysakc explained.  
"Because the addiction didn't leave them enough time to do   
their research," Tuvok pointed out.  
"Or at least they could do their research only in secrecy,"   
Chakotay added. "Is that so? From what I understand it must have   
been like that."  
Ysakc nodded. It was amazing how much insight the   
Federations were having into their history. When he told them that,   
the Commander smiled some what lugubrious. "To us, this is   
unfortunately no new concept, I'm afraid. I know from an   
addiction for gambling that almost ruined the flagship of Starfleet.   
If it hadn't been for one young man, the results of this addiction   
could have ruined even more than the ship."  
"The only difference is that your people have always been   
able to fight for peace actively, something which was made   
impossible for us. But that's a difficult thing to explain. Suffice it   
to say that there've always been a handful of courageous men in   
my people who tried to find a solution to our problem," the   
Hirogen medic explained.  
"And you are one of them, I assume," Tuvok concluded.   
Yaskc nodded again. "It is very dangerous, but I am lucky   
to serve under a leader who has the same attitudes. I'm sure he'd   
like to negotiate with you, if you are willing, that is. I am well   
aware of the damage we've inflicted on your people, and I am   
willing to help you repair it."  
The muscles in Chakotay's jaw knotted and clenched. He   
didn't know if this Hirogen medic could be trusted because he   
didn't know anything about the Hirogen code of honor. Maybe he   
had an hidden agenda and tried to lure them into a false sense of   
security. That was something Chakotay didn't want to risk. He   
wished he could discuss this with Kathryn, she always seemed to   
know who was trustworthy. But she was down in Sickbay, and   
hell, he didn't even know how she was faring, didn't know if she'd   
survived the Hirogen's attack.  
"We will take your offer into consideration, Mr Ysakc,"   
Tuvok eventually said. Obviously the Vulcan was sure of the   
Hirogen's sincerity either. And after all that had happened, he   
considered it a wise step to let the Hirogen wait for an answer to   
this. He wanted to discuss this with Commander Chakotay, and   
with the Captain if possible. From his experience in diplomacy, it   
was also likely that the Hirogen would be more likely to make   
concessions the longer they had to wait. On the other hand, they   
couldn't take too much of their time, because the ship needed   
repairing badly.  
"As you wish," Ysakc nodded, giving them the impression   
of them being the ones who had done the wrong.  
"That's really generous of you," Chakotay quipped in this   
new found sense of sarcasm that Tuvok had gotten to know so   
recently. Tuvok nodded at his two security officers to let them   
know that the Hirogen's presence wasn't necessary any longer.  
After they had left and the doors had closed behind them,   
Chakotay let his relief show. He brushed his hands across his face,   
pinching the base of his nose between his thumb and index finger   
to drive the oncoming headache away. Then he leaned heavily into   
the Captain's desk. "What do you make of him, Tuvok?" he   
eventually asked his Vulcan Chief of Security.  
  
  
"I am not sure of his sincerity. Furthermore am I convinced that the Hirogen will expect something in return for their proffered   
help," the Vulcan analyzed the medic's behavior. Then he added:   
"On the other hand did Mr Ysakc seem inexperienced in   
diplomacy, and I think that we should consider this when   
continuing our negotiations with him."  
Chakotay smiled wearily. "You mean we should take   
advantage of him. Tuvok, that's not particularly the fine Vulcan   
manners you are renowned for."  
Tuvok tilted his head and was about the reply something,   
when the intercom chirped and the Doctor asked to talk with   
Chakotay. "Go ahead, Doctor," Chakotay answered the hologram's   
hail, after he'd tapped the communicator on his chest. He hadn't   
yet had the time to change from his tuxedo shirt and trousers, so   
the 24th century device pinned to the shirt seemed somewhat out of   
place. Tuvok instead had somehow found the time to change from   
his bartender's outfit into his golden uniform.  
"Commander, there are several things that need discussing   
down here," the hologram explained.  
  
Chakotay felt an uneasy feeling rise in his guts, hoping at   
the same time that Kathryn was alright. "How is the Captain?" he   
couldn't help asking.  
"She'll recover soon, but let me explain this to you in   
Sickbay," the Doctor said.  
  
=/\=  
  
Five minutes later the doors to Sickbay hissed open and let   
the Commanders enter. Their eyes locked immediately on the   
Chief Engineer and the pilot who were sitting on one of the   
biobeds, the latter holding the woman in his arms. Chakotay   
frowned. The Doctor had said that everything was alright, hadn't   
he? So why ... and then he realized what was going on. When   
B'Elanna shifted in her boyfriend's embrace Chakotay noticed that   
her belly wasn't gone.That was when the Doctor joined them. Noticing the   
direction into which the commanders were looking, he explained in   
a low voice: "The Captain will be fine soon. But Lieutenant Torres   
..."  
Neither of the commanders knew the Doctor for being lost   
for words, so the situation must really be dire.   
"She's pregnant, isn't she?" Chakotay diagnosed. He   
looked at his friend in her boyfriend's arms. B'Elanna didn't look   
much like herself, the news of her pregnancy must have been a   
complete surprise for her. He could understand her only too well,   
after all he'd been in a similar situation himself, only that it hadn't   
been him who'd been impregnated against his will. Seska had   
simply raped him, had taken a sample of his DNA of him and had   
impregnated herself with it. The only thing that had given him a   
sense of satisfaction was the discovery that the child was Kazon,   
after all. But what had the crew had to endure because of his strong   
feelings as a father?  
"Yes, the Hirogen have impregnated her with Lieutenant   
Paris' DNA. But since the term has been reduced to less than three   
weeks the child couldn't develop properly," the Doctor informed   
them.  
"Meaning?" Tuvok asked, his raised eyebrow conveying   
his condemnation of the Hirogen's deeds. He was calm on the   
outside, but inside his calm was waging a war with his ire. This was topping it all. After all what the Hirogen had done to them, they now even demanded something in exchange for their help.   
Tuvok then vowed that they wouldn't get away with that. Even   
Vulcan understanding and insight did have their limits, and those   
the Hirogen had exhausted by far.  
"Meaning that the life expectancy of the child doesn't   
exceed more than maybe ten days, I'm afraid," the Doctor revealed   
to them.  
Chakotay's patience came to an end then. He curled his   
hands into tight fists, beating the air with them, his face red with   
ire. "How dare they do this to her? Who do they think they are?   
Gods? If I can get hold of a single one of them I can't promise I   
can pull myself together. Those bastards!" Chakotay flew into a   
rage. Neither Tuvok nor the Doctor had lived to see him like this,   
and if Kathryn could have seen him like this, she would have   
gotten to know the true angry warrior within him.  
Chakotay's outrage called for the couple's attention on the   
biobed. "Chakotay!" B'Elanna softly called for her best friend. The Dorvanian had crossed Sickbay with a few long strides, suddenly   
sorry for his getting so loud. Accepting his friend's proffered   
hands, he pulled her into his arms. Paris let go of her only   
reluctantly, but he knew about the clos3 bonding that was between   
the two of them.  
"I'm so sorry, B'Elanna, if only I could do something for   
you," Chakotay softly said, suddenly the gentle understanding man   
everybody knew him to be.  
"Yes, if only ... " B'Elanna replied, stroking the   
Dorvanian's back. "But we'll have to cope with it."  
Chakotay was looking at Paris over B'Elanna's shoulder,   
and he was surprised to find the sandy haired pilot in utter calm.   
How could he be that calm, knowing that his girlfriend and him   
had been raped and misused as guinea-pigs, and, to top it all, that   
their child wasn't going to live? How could he? Didn't he see the   
turmoil B'Elanna was in?  
"We ...," Tom choked. He wasn't as confident as he   
looked. He realized what Chakotay must be thinking about him   
from the dangerous twinkling in his dark eyes. But didn't he realize   
that this was B'Elanna, that her Human side had taken over, and   
that she needed him to lean on. How could he let himself go then   
when she needed him so much? "Don't worry, Commander. I've   
promised the Captain to take good care of her, and I'm not going to   
let either of them down."  
"You'd better not," Chakotay murmured. He was angry at   
himself. He had to trust Paris for the sake of B'Elanna. It wouldn't   
help her in any way if she noticed that her best friend and her lover   
were constantly at each other's throats. It'd only add to her misery   
and this was the last thing Chakotay wanted. What great a help he   
was! "I'm sorry, Tom, this entire business has gotten the better of   
me."  
Tom hesitated only for an instant before he gave his   
superior a friendly slap on the shoulder. "Forget it, okay?"  
  
To be continued ... 


	14. The Kings Tent

Cœur de Lion  
  
By Katie  
  
Chapter 14 The King's Tent  
  
"B'Elanna, I want you to stay in Sickbay," Chakotay said, after he'd nodded at Tom in an appreciating manner. His concern about the half-Klingon woman was almost boundless. He'd have   
already lost her for several times, both back in Maquis-times and   
here in the Delta Quadrant, but losing her now seemed almost   
unbearable to him. Maybe he was being selfish and didn't want tolose her because he needed a friend in the days and weeks to come.   
A difficult time was awaiting the First Officer of the Voyager, not   
only in terms of having to negotiate with the Hirogen, but also in terms of finding a resolution for his relationship with his Captain.   
During the simulation they had become lovers, his wildest dream had become true at a most unsuitable time. First of all had   
he—they—been brainwashed by an alien device so that he wasn't   
aware of it, at least not as Chakotay. Then this had happened at a   
point of time where he'd come to finally accept the fact that   
Kathryn and him were sharing a deep friendship, and were not   
lovers as he'd once hoped them to be. He'd finally come to peace   
with himself and with his relationship with Kathryn when the   
Hirogen had taken over Voyager. They had not only half destroyed   
their ship, they had also destroyed their lives, or if not seen that   
drastically, had caused major changes in them.  
Take Tom and B'Elanna. They were going to be parents   
because of some sick idea of the Hirogen. They had been raped,   
and to top it all they weren't allowed to see their child grow up to   
become as fine an adult as they had become. But at least did they have the chance to love this child. But was this really a blessing?   
Losing a child was the most horrible thing that could happen to parents. There was no doubt that Tom and B'Elanna were going to   
love the child, even if it didn't seem so now.  
And what about Kathryn and himself? By letting their   
characters become lovers, the Hirogen had put the entire command   
team into jeopardy. But then the Hirogen hadn't planned on ever   
letting the command team run the ship together again. How would   
Kathryn react once she realized what had happened between   
Catherine Leroux and Frank Miller? Certainly she would make   
herself believe that none such thing had ever happened, she would   
deny it and make herself forget about it. But with it, she would   
leave both of them restless and hurt. He would give it a try, it had   
worked in their Holodeck reality after all, and none of their fellow   
crewmembers had objected to the relationship between the leader of the Maquis and the American spy.  
  
B'Elanna looked at Chakotay askance. "Why would I stay   
here in Sickbay when we need everyone to get the ship up and   
running again?" Chakotay almost lost it again. It was unbelievable how   
heavy the burden of command was weighing on his shoulders. It   
was all he could do to keep calm with the help of his hands   
hanging curled into tight fists next to his body. His knuckles were   
white with barely contained rage. "B'Elanna, you are very   
pregnant. Do you think you can accomplish anything by crawling   
through narrow Jeffries tubes with that belly of yours?"  
Tom and B'Elanna were taken aback by Chakotay's   
bluntness. Neither of them had ever seen him like this. "I think the   
Commander is right, Miss Torres," Tuvok chimed in. "If you want   
to help, then please stay here and give your orders from here. From   
what I understand your pregnancy and delivery might be risky, so   
it would be wise to stay in Sickbay to get quick help in case   
something happens."  
  
B'Elanna looked at the dark Vulcan and found that he was right. She was getting tired quickly now, and she didn't want to leave Tom, not now. "Okay, I'll stay here."  
Chakotay, who had lowered his head after his fit of rage,   
was pinching the base of his crooked nose yet again. Eventually, he   
raised his head and said: "I'm sorry I'm being so rude. I don't   
mean it."  
"Of course you don't, Commander," the Doctor said,   
joining them. "This is very difficult for all of us. Maybe you should   
all take a good night's sleep."  
"Easier said than done, Doc," Tom commented. "What   
about a cup of coffee for all of us?"  
"Perhaps that'll wake the Captain," Chakotay thought   
aloud. His need for her being by his side right now was so great   
that he didn't care what the others were thinking. Having been   
trapped in World War II together, they knew about Kathryn and   
him anyway.  
"That won't wake the Captain, I'm afraid," the Doctor   
said. Just as the mood had lightened up a bit, he had to dampen it   
again. He noticed the alarmed expression in the Dorvanian's dark   
eyes. "Mr Paris and I have deemed it necessary—from a medical   
point of view—to put Captain Janeway into an artificial coma. The   
injuries she has suffered in the various simulations were severe,   
and her body badly needs the time to heal."  
  
=/\=  
  
Seven went directly to the Bridge after she'd brought Janeway to Sickbay. When the Doctor had told her to leave him   
and Lieutenant Paris alone, she had felt the strong urge to disobey and stay. She knew that she couldn't have done anything to help,   
and yet did Seven have the feeling that her presence would have helped Janeway in *some* way. But Seven had then decided that   
she would be of more help if she went to the Bridge to help Harry   
shut down the Holodecks. They hadn't been able to even freeze the   
programs yet, and since the Holodecks were—because of their   
extreme enhancing by the Hirogen—consuming a lot of their   
precious energy, it was their primary goal to hack into the Hirogen   
codes and put an end to World War II, the crusades and some   
Klingon war.  
  
The former Borg trying to find her human self again found the ride in the turbolift longer than usual. She knew that time was always passing at the same rate, it didn't pass quickly or slowly. This was just an impression Humans were having based on their   
perception, on their opinions and emotions. Something that was—according to Tuvok—completely illogical. And she didn't want to   
be illogical, not now that Captain Janeway needed her so badly.  
  
But Captain Janeway wouldn't leave her mind, regardless of what Seven was trying. It was as though she was still holding   
Janeway's broken body in her arms, because she was remembering   
the weight of her body in her arms so vividly. Janeway had been so   
helpless, something that Seven couldn't quite understand. To her,   
the Captain was never helpless, she was the one who was in   
charge, who was in control, who was there for anyone who needed   
her. She was the Captain. But when she'd held her in the damaged   
corridor, she'd been so still, and there'd been so much blood all over her, and she had been so pale. Seven then realized how much even she depended on her strength. Whenever there was something she didn't quite   
understand, there was always the Captain she could go for help to. And she would always try to explain anything to her, and she   
would try to understand, try to find out where the Borg had left just   
a little bit of her humanity alive. Seven herself knew that there   
were those bits, but she was reluctant to open herself to them,   
because they often entailed weakness, fallibility and loss of   
control—things Seven didn't want to experience. But if she wanted   
to become human, or at least as human as possible for her, then she   
had to give in to them. The taking of risks was something she   
knew, but only on a physical basis.  
Captain Janeway had told her often, though, that with   
friends by one's side this kind of taking risks wasn't that difficult,   
or painful, or whatever it was that one dreaded. And she had   
proven a good friend often enough, and more than once had Seven rejected her friend instead of letting her in, had she disobeyed her direct orders instead of trusting her, instead of thanking her for   
what she'd done for her, or at least letting her know that she wasn't angry. Trust was something that was still difficult for Seven to   
understand. But maybe this was the key to finding a bit of Annika   
within her, a bit of the person she'd been before the Borg had   
assimilated her. She had trusted Harry Kim in the King's tent, hadn't she? And everything had worked out well, so maybe it was   
worth taking a risk to trust in the young man—and to trust more in   
the Captain when she was fine again.  
The doors of the turbolift finally hissed open and let her   
enter the Bridge. There wasn't much damage here, except for the   
additional devices the Hirogen had installed in the engineering   
section. From what Seven could see at first glance she was sure   
that this was nothing that couldn't be repaired easily. The Bridge   
was manned with the most important crew only, mainly by junior crew since the command team was unavailable at the time being. Ops, though, was filled with a member of the senior crew, Ensign   
Kim.  
When Seven spotted the young man immersed in his work at his console, she realized that it had been the prospect of meeting   
him on the Bridge that had let her leave Sickbay in the end. She   
had trusted him in the King's tent, and he hadn't disappointed her.   
On the contrary, he had even shown her something wonderful.  
  
Harry Kim had shown her that a kiss was more than just two people pressing their mouths together and depriving each other   
of oxygen. There had been a lot more in the kiss he'd given her in   
the King's tent than when she'd tried it out in the Jeffries tube   
several weeks earlier. Harry had caught her completely off guard   
when he'd gathered her in his embrace and had started to kiss her.   
If it hadn't been for her surprise, she wouldn't have ever let him   
kiss her. But looked at it now, she didn't find any wrong in his   
action. She even remembered the kiss, and she remembered the   
funny feeling that had warmed her abdomen and her crotch. She didn't remember closing her eyes, but she must have closed them   
because she hadn't seen the Hirogen stand in the entrance of the tent. This funny feeling in her abdomen and the warmth that had   
spread from there down to her crotch and even her feet were   
haunting her. She was certain of its cause, namely Harry's tongue   
gently entering her mouth and caressing it. When she had tried to imitate him, he had withdrawn his tongue from her mouth to let her try for herself. What had struck her first was the taste of his saliva,   
and the wetness. It hadn't been like anything she'd experienced   
before, nothing she'd tried had tasted like him.  
"Mr Kim?" she asked to draw his attention to her. She'd   
been told repeatedly that this was the way to engage a conversation   
in a case like this.  
Harry looked up from his work. At first he looked neutral,   
but then concern took over. "Seven. How is the Captain?" He   
knew, of course, about the Hirogen's attack and had been trying to   
distract himself from his concern about the Captain with work."The Doctor and Lieutenant Paris are treating her. She was still alive when I left Sickbay," Seven reported dutifully, albeit   
anxious to talk to the Ensign about her reflections.  
"Oh," Harry made. Seven's optimism was as refreshing as   
always. "I'm sure she'll make it, she's made of sterner stuff than   
one would think.""She ..." Seven began, but stopped when she recognized   
the idiom in Harry's comment for what it was, just an idiom. "Yes,   
I think so. I must talk to you, Ensign."  
Harry didn't quite know what to make of Seven's   
intention, but something in her eyes told him that she was very   
anxious to talk to him. "Then I must listen."  
"Humor is not the support I require, Ensign," Seven   
rebuffed him, but it sounded strangely sad.  
"I'm sorry, Seven. Go ahead, I *will* listen," he   
apologized. Then he added quickly: "And I'd be glad if I could   
help you."  
  
Some time later—Harry didn't know how much time had passed since Seven had asked him to listen to him, actually it   
didn't really interest him either—Harry was sitting on the floor behind his console, holding Seven in his arms. She hadn't cried   
when she'd told him everything that had kept her preoccupied.   
Because her feelings were so new to her that she'd been too   
fascinated by them and too interested in finding out about them as   
though she could have cried.However, the support and the comfort Harry's embrace   
was offering her felt good, and for the first time in her life on   
Voyager did Seven feel not alone. And—as strange as it was—it   
felt so good to talk about herself with someone else than Captain   
Janeway. Not that she didn't like talking with the Captain, Seven   
was just discovering that she needed friends next to the Captain as   
well if she wanted to be not only accepted by the crew, but also   
treated as an equal—at least in some regards. This was a hard thing   
to do, and trust was an essential part to it.  
"Harry?" Seven asked, turning her head to look up at him. Her head had been resting against his shoulder, they had been quiet   
to think their own thoughts."Yes?""When I told you about the kiss," she began."Oh," Harry made, and felt his face warming when he   
remembered the description of what she'd felt when they'd kissed   
in the King's tent. It touched something deep within him, and it   
had let him feel the first signs of arousal, but he had forced himself   
to forget about it successfully.  
"I did not tell you that I found it pleasant and comforting.   
Is that the right way ..." her voice trailed off. For once she wasn't   
afraid of admitting her insecurity.  
Harry smiled. "Absolutely, yes." It was incredible how she   
managed to touch him so deep inside. For the first time since   
they'd gotten stranded in this goddamned quadrant did he stop   
thinking about Libby every second. He had let Seven into his life   
and into his heart, and he didn't have a bad conscience because of   
the woman he'd left behind. Life had to go on, Libby sure would want the same for him, and for herself as well. Of that he was certain.  
  
"Will you make me feel like this again?" Seven asked. "Please?"Harry's head swam, but before he even felt the shivers   
running down his spine he found himself cupping Seven's cheek   
with his hand. He pulled her gently closer to him, and when their lips met, he felt her arms going around his back and neck. She had   
let him embrace her earlier, but she hadn't answered the hug. Now   
she did, and when their lips parted to let the other in, they became   
completely oblivious of everything around them.  
This time their kiss deepened, for it was a genuine kiss.   
They were kissing because they wanted it, not because it was   
forced upon them by each other or by some alien power, or out of   
necessity, like in the King's tent.  
And this time, neither of them had to conceal their arousal.   
They just had to keep it in check, for they were still on the Bridge   
after all, with quite an audience.  
  
=/\=  
  
Only few people got the rest they needed so badly this very night. Engineering was as busy as ever, as were the Mess Hall and   
Sickbay. Neelix had—after he'd left the kitchen of the *Cœur de   
Lion*—recaptured his realm and with the help of several hungry   
crewmembers had produced a meal as if by magic. Since they were   
running on the additional energy units of the Hirogen, Neelix   
hadn't hesitated for a single second to use them to feed the   
replicators with them, there wasn't that much about his magic.   
Actually, the crew were happy about that since they hadn't had   
anything palatable to eat in almost three weeks. Compared to the   
Hirogen's cuisine, they felt like God in France when Neelix was in   
his element.  
In Sickbay the Doctor—with the help of Sam Wildman and   
a few volunteers—was busy treating the crew from the Holodecks.   
They had to be examined for any injuries and the neural interfaces   
had to be removed. Many of them were very concerned about the   
fact that Borg nanoprobes were in their system, but the Doctor   
quickly managed to convince them that they had to fear nothing. He'd reprogrammed the nanoprobes in a way that after   
deactivating the neural interfaces they clung to them. In that way   
he could remove the interfaces together with the nanoprobes   
without setting the health of his patients at risk.  
  
  
Naomi Wildman was one of the few lucky who got some rest, but despite everything that had happened—maybe even   
because of that—she had trouble getting to sleep. Even Neelix, who had been summoned by Naomi's babysitter, and his   
storytelling about the Great Tree weren't able to help her. The   
Talaxian soon found the reason for her being wide awake. The   
little girl didn't have an explanation to anything that had happened   
to her on the Holodeck, nor what had happened before or after.   
Those questions were haunting her, of course, and Neelix   
understood her completely, but he didn't have any idea how to help   
her.  
He himself remembered the goings-on on the Holodeck   
vividly. If it hadn't been for the assassination of Seven, he   
wouldn't have given this another thought, because he remembered   
the simulation to be peaceful. He'd heard rumors, of course, that   
the World War II scenario hadn't been the only scenario the   
Hirogen had run, but he didn't know whether they were true,   
because he had no memories other than the *Cœur de Lion*. Those rumors made sense, because they'd been trapped on their own ship   
for more than three weeks—at least did the Doctor say so. Neelix   
for his part had the memories and the experiences of Jean, which   
spanned more than the alleged three weeks, a whole lifetime even.  
But how much did Naomi know? And how much had the   
events touched and influenced her? He remembered the deep state   
of shock she'd fallen into on having witnessed the Hirogen's shooting Seven. Neelix could never forgive himself if his   
goddaughter had been traumatized by those alien armadillo-  
skinned Hunters.  
So there he was sitting on the half-Ktarian girl's bed,   
toying absentmindedly with that unidentifiable furry stuffed animal   
she loved so much. She'd named it Larx, after a hero of Rinax'   
early history. Neelix desperately tried to find a way to address the   
matter as discretely as possible. Part of it was a smile, but the   
usually cheerful Talaxian failed miserable at his attempt.  
"What is it, Uncle Neelix?" Naomi wanted to know when she recognized his misery. She sat up and petted the dark shaggy   
fur of whatever kind of animal Larx was.  
"You know, sweetheart," Neelix began, this time   
succeeding in looking cheerful, "maybe you should begin the   
storytelling tonight. I'll add anything that's missing. How does that   
sound?"  
For a second or so Neelix had the impression as though   
Naomi had bought his white lie. But being the smart girl she was,   
she couldn't help herself. Her curiosity got the better of her. "But   
Uncle Neelix, this is not a story, this is what really happened. I   
can't remember anything that happened before the Captain hugged   
me. But there must have been something, because I can't   
remember how I got on the Holodeck in the first place."  
It was all Neelix could do then to suppress a joyful cry.   
Instead he let out the breath he hadn't been aware he was holding.   
So Naomi had in some way been spared remembering everything   
that had happened. "What is the last thing you remember,   
sweetheart?"  
"Well, Momma asked me to go to Sickbay with her. The Doctor wanted to give me some medicine there. But I wasn't ill at all," Naomi quickly added as though she had to defend herself. It   
wasn't her fault, she hadn't wanted to join the grown-ups on the   
Holodeck.  
"Yes, I know. The Doctor and your mother were just   
worried that you might get ill," Neelix explained. He thanked his   
Talaxian Gods for the Hirogen's having spared the child the worst   
part of the simulation. The memories Naomi was sharing with him right now must stem from the day when the Hirogen had seized   
Voyager. Then there was a gap in her memory—Neelix presumed   
that the Doctor had put her to sleep—until the moment the Captain   
had hugged her in the nightclub, which had happened after the   
incident in the woods.  
"That's nice," Naomi decided, her face brightening. They   
sat in silence for a while, both of them lost in their own thoughts.  
"Uncle Neelix?"  
"Yes, little one?" Neelix looked up from his intense petting   
Larx.  
"I was wondering why the engineer woman was so fat all of a sudden. Is this Uncle Tom's fault?" she asked, looking very   
serious and really interested. Neelix knew that the girl didn't like   
B'Elanna, so it took him by surprise that she showed genuine   
interest in her well-being. On the other hand did it bring the   
Talaxian into a difficult situation. The girl wasn't old enough yet to   
know about where the babies come from, or at least did he not   
know how much she already knew. Neelix chewed nervously on   
his lower lip."Well, in a way he is, yes," he eventually managed to say,   
only to realize a moment later that this was definitely something he   
hadn't wanted to tell her. But Naomi had already another question   
she wanted answered.  
  
"Is there a baby inside her belly?" she inquired.  
  
Neelix hesitated. "Yes. But you know, there isn't really a baby inside her."  
"How so?" The poor girl was utterly confused by now.  
"It's just a holographic baby. It's part of the game we were playing," Neelix tried to explain, as patient as ever. For a while   
Naomi seemed satisfied with his explanation. But she was a very   
curious and thirsty for knowledge little girl, her mind never really   
unoccupied. "But why would ..."Neelix then decided that she definitely needed some rest. "Naomi, it was a game, that's all there is to it."  
"But how and why did I join you? I can't remember a   
single thing between going to Doc and hugging the Captain!"   
Naomi protested. She somehow sensed that there was more to the   
story than her godfather cared to tell her. Why was it that the   
grown-ups never cared to tell her the whole story?  
"I'll tell you tomorrow, okay? I'm really very tired now.   
And you should try to get some sleep as well," Neelix decided. He   
was well aware of the fact that there was no way for him to dodge the thirst for knowledge of the half-Ktarian girl."Promise?" Naomi asked suspiciously.  
  
"Promise," Neelix said solemnly and raised his freckled hand. "Now try to get some sleep, will you?"  
  
"Okay." She lay back well-behaved, taking Larx with her. Neelix tugged both of them in and kissed her cheek before bidding   
her good night and turning the lights down.  
  
=/\=  
  
Before Chakotay left Sickbay to get at least a few hours'   
rest, he stopped by by Kathryn's bed. It had certainly been a good   
thing to put her into an artificial coma. Knowing her, the Doctor   
had deemed it the only means to make sure that she recuperated   
properly. Chakotay couldn't but approve of this decision, even if it   
meant that he had to take over responsibility for the negotiations   
with the Hirogen. He would rather Kathryn, Tuvok and he could   
have negotiated together. Kathryn had an insight he sometimes   
lacked, and vice versa. Chakotay was afraid that this time his   
strong emotions would harm his discernment. But this wasn't   
because Kathryn and he had been lovers on the Holodeck. The   
entire crew had been affected by the sick and cruel game of the   
Hirogen, so no one could blame him for feeling the way he did.   
The Dorvanian wondered how Kathryn managed to keep calm at times like this. On the other hand did he know that Kathryn   
sometimes drew her calm and strength from his presence. It was   
this mutuality in their relationship that made it so special—among   
other things. There were a lot of other little things that made their   
friendship precious, and maybe even more than just a friendship.  
Maybe the events of the past twenty days would serve as a   
catalyst that turned Kathryn and him into lovers. If not, Chakotay   
would of course accept that and try to be content with their   
friendship. He'd managed to get as far as this by time the Hirogen   
had seized Voyager. On the other hand did he know what he was   
missing, now that he'd made love to Kathryn, and she to him.   
Maybe she'd realize that, too. Chakotay prayed to the Spirits of his   
ancestors that they make her realize that.  
He looked at his lover. She was still pale, but she was on   
the way of recovery. Her hair was still curled à la mode of the   
1940s, albeit ruffled up. Her left hand was resting on her chest and Chakotay noticed the simple golden wedding ring on her finger   
almost instantly. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth when   
he realized that he too was still wearing the ring Catherine had   
given him back in Sainte Claire. He pulled it off his finger and read   
what was engraved on the inside: Catherine 20 Juin 1935.   
Knowing that the same date but Maurice's name was engraved in   
her ring, he didn't remove it from her finger. Maybe it would help   
her make the right decision. Chakotay also thanked in silence   
whomever it was that had left the ring on her finger—either the   
Doctor or Tom.  
With one hand Chakotay covered her hand, brushing his   
thumb over the golden ring as he did so. With his other hand he   
cupped the top of her head, lowering himself so that his lips almost   
touched her left ear. "Get well soon, Kathryn. I love you." Then he   
kissed her gently on the cheek. He brushed across her forehead   
with his thumb and gave her small hand a squeeze.  
When he turned to leave he found the Doctor standing next to him. "I'm sure she has heard you, Commander," the hologram   
offered. He knew that the crew found the certainty that people in a   
coma could hear them comforting.  
"Yes, I hope so. Good night, Doctor. Take good care of our   
ladies," Chakotay smiled wearily.  
  
To be continued ... 


	15. Game Over

Cœur de Lion  
  
By Katie  
  
Chapter 15 Game Over  
  
When Kathryn Janeway woke from her artificially induced coma, she didn't at first know where she was, or who, for that   
matter. There was another personality present in her mind, the   
personality of a woman who was very much like her, and yet   
wasn't. Kathryn knew Catherine, after all she'd given her body to   
her during the games on the Holodeck. It was as though she'd been   
an observer, a voyeur even, in her own body, watching the life of a   
Maquis leader. It was a disturbing experience, worse even than   
watching herself cradled in Chakotay's arms, dying on an alien   
planet because an alien entity was hungry for her soul.  
She'd slept with Chakotay. Of course it wasn't Chakotay   
she'd slept with, and it hadn't been her who'd slept with him, either.   
It had been their alter egos that had made love to each other using   
the bodies of Kathryn and Chakotay. But there had been more to it,   
and once Kathryn realized this it sent icy shivers up and down her   
spine. A great deal of her own personality had been—and still   
was—part of Catherine Leroux, and it had been this part that had   
finally given into letting Chakotay into her life. She also knew that   
as much of Kathryn Janeway had been part of Catherine Leroux as   
had Chakotay been part of Frank Miller.  
But they hadn't only slept together. There had been more to   
it. They had made love, because they had fallen in love with each   
other. Falling in love with Chakotay was a luxury Kathryn hadn't   
allowed herself, despite her better knowledge that, eventually, she   
wouldn't be able to withhold her strong feelings for her First   
Officer any longer. She had been well aware that she'd need a   
catalyst that would finally set her free. The Hirogen with their sick   
games and brain-washing neural interfaces had been that catalyst.  
Kathryn wasn't sure if she was happy about that. Sure, with   
Chakotay—or Frank or whatever—she'd felt like a woman again,   
and she'd become another person, an even stronger person than   
she'd been before. She'd undergone the same change as Catherine   
had. It hadn't done any harm to her, on the contrary.   
  
But this had happened while under the influence of a mind-  
controlling device, there was no proof that it would work in real   
life as well. And back to real life they were by now, at least did   
Kathryn hope so. As soon as they were Starfleet officers again, and   
submitted not to a neural interface but strict Starfleet protocol,   
there would be no place for a life like this. They hadn't fallen in   
love upon their own will, they had been manipulated.  
And why could something like that have happened?   
Because she'd lost control. But her affair with Chakotay wasn't the   
point. The point was that by losing control she'd put the lives of her   
crew at risk, and with it the life of Voyager. Kathryn didn't want to   
think more about it, or otherwise she would have gotten sick. How   
could she have let that happen? She felt so humiliated at the   
thought of being used as someone's toy. After all she was used to   
making her own decisions and mistakes, to living her own life. She   
wasn't owned by anyone but herself.  
But was she? Kathryn painfully realized that she in fact   
was owned by her strong determination to get this crew home. In a   
way, the crew were having a pretty powerful instrument at their   
hands with her weakest point. But they'd never use it against her,   
she knew that. She trusted her crew completely, as they trusted her.  
Just then the doors to Sickbay hissed open and let   
somebody enter. Kathryn turned her head into the direction of the   
doors to see who'd come. It was Naomi Wildman, standing there   
wide-eyed, clutching a padd. Kathryn looked at her in alarm and   
sat up in one swift motion. The muscles in her abdomen were still   
sore and ached dully when she sat up, but the woman ignored it.   
What was important to her now was to find out if the little girl was   
all right.  
"Naomi!" she softly called, angry that her voice broke. She   
hadn't drunken anything in a long time.  
"Oh, I'm sorry, Captain," the girl answered, taking a step   
backward, yet uncertain what she should do. She certainly hadn't   
expected the captain to be awake.  
  
"Don't be," Kathryn said after she'd cleared her voice. She   
smiled at her. "Come on over here and stay with me for a while. I   
don't want to be alone." *I don't want to think,* she added silently.   
Any distraction was welcome to her now. Not that Naomi was such   
unbidden a visitor or company to have, on the contrary. Kathryn   
had less time at her disposal to talk to the girl every now and then   
than she cared to admit.  
"Okay," Naomi said. Hesitantly she walked to the vacant   
biobed next to the Captain's. She carefully put her padd on and   
then climbed on it. She could look at the Captain without having to   
crane her neck, and she was in what Naomi called *safe distance*.   
The memory of the Captain hugging her was still very real in her   
mind. Naomi wasn't afraid of the Captain. It was just that her   
mother had impressed on her not to bother the Captain. She was a   
very busy woman who wasn't to burden any more than she already   
was. The girl still didn't know what had caused the Captain to hug   
her, but there must have been a reason for it. You don't hug people   
out of the blue. And since Naomi still didn't know she was very   
insecure as how to act around the Captain.  
"Tell me," Kathryn began, now sitting with her legs   
dangling over the edge of the bed. "What makes you come here?   
You aren't ill, are you?"  
"No. I'm just in everybody's way now that they are so busy.   
I come here because it's the only place where I can practice reading   
without disturbing anyone," Naomi explained.  
  
  
Kathryn's heart warmed. The child really was a blessing to   
the ship. Not that she'd ever not wanted her to be around. The Delta   
Quadrant simply wasn't the right playground for children; it even   
wasn't for a certain Starfleet vessel at times. But theirs wasn't a   
game. Life wasn't a game. "So it was you who's been there with me   
all the time," she deduced. "I remember hearing voices and people   
around me, and I remember someone reading to me, but I can't   
recall what it was, I'm afraid."   
Kathryn hadn't just said this. It was true, she had heard   
voices and people around her. But somehow she hadn't been able to   
lift the heavy blanket off her consciousness. And she really   
remembered someone reading to her. It must have been reading,   
for the tone and intonation weren't that of people speaking freely.  
Naomi's face lit up. The ice between her and the Captain   
was broken. She couldn't possibly being bothering the Captain if it   
was her who wanted to talk with her, now, could she? "Yes! I'm   
reading *The Wind in the Willows*. It's my favorite book."  
  
"Oh, and you're making a very good job of it," Kathryn   
praised her, noticing the girl's face flush crimson with pride. "Now,   
where did you stop the last time?"  
"You want me to read for you?"  
Kathryn shrugged. "Yes, of course. I haven't read the book   
in a long time." There were a million questions whirling around in   
her mind that she wanted answered, but she didn't want to disturb   
Naomi. She—no, Catherine—remembered quite vividly what had   
happened to Naomi's character on the Holodeck. She needed to be   
careful around her, and so reading was the safest thing she could   
do. Besides, she *really* hadn't read the book in a very long time.   
She'd loved it very much when she'd been little.  
"Okay." She took the padd, opened it and went to the   
bookmark she'd made. Naomi cleared her throat, and began:   
"Chapter 7: The Piper at the Gates of Dawn. The Willow-Wren   
was twittering his thin little song, hidden himself in the dark   
selvedge of the river bank. Though it was past ten o'clock at night,   
the sky still clung to and retained some lingering skirts of light   
from the departed day; and the sullen heats of the torrid afternoon   
broke up and ..."  
  
B'Elanna covered the small sleeping form carefully with a   
quilt, making sure that her son could breathe properly. He was   
looking so perfect, too perfect as though she could believe that she   
would never see him grow up. He had inherited the cerulean blues   
of his father, but that was about everything. The color of his sparse   
hair was B'Elanna's own dark brown, and if she let her finger glide   
across his forehead, she could feel the Klingon ridges ever so   
faintly. But they would develop only a little more, of that the   
Doctor had assured her. Taken, of course, that the child would live   
long enough.  
  
  
"How's he doing, Doc?" she heard Tom ask the Doctor.  
"Considering the circumstances he's doing unexpectedly   
good," the Hologram replied.  
"And?" Tom pressed.  
"That increases his life expectancy by a couple of days, but   
not more, I'm afraid," the Doctor answered patiently. He didn't   
know how many times he'd already answered this question. But   
that was only natural. What parents wanted to see their child die,   
after all? He still couldn't believe how the Hirogen had been able to   
do something like this—from an ethical point of view.  
Tom sighed. "Yes. I know we should be grateful, which we   
truly are, but ..." Tom didn't finish his sentence.  
The Doctor padded the pilot reassuringly on the shoulder.   
"I can't imagine any better parents for Samuel than you. Well, I'll   
visit again tonight."  
  
"Thank you, Doctor.""...but it hurts so much," B'Elanna finished the sentence for   
her boyfriend after the Doctor had dematerialized. Ever since she'd   
learned about Samuel her Human side had taken over. Tom   
summed it up as her feminine side. She was all a mother now. She   
was still an engineer, of course, but when first damage reports had   
turned out quite positive, she'd turned over Engineering to Joe   
Carey. The Hirogen's reparations included abundant supplies for   
replacing the broken Holodecks, particularly the holes in the walls.   
What was to happen with the enhanced Holodeck generators was   
yet to be decided upon.  
But nothing of that mattered to B'Elanna as much as her   
son. Chakotay had given her as much time off as she needed, as he   
had to Tom. They were important officers, but considering their   
present situation and needs, nothing seemed important enough to   
Chakotay to deny them the time they needed.  
Samuel was born the same night his parents had learned   
about him. The Doctor had deemed it wise to perform a c-section.   
He hadn't been sure whether the boy would have survived a natural   
birth, and he hadn't wanted to take the risk of beaming him out of   
his mother's womb either. As it turned out, Samuel was the most   
beautiful baby-boy ever born on Voyager—which was even true.   
Nobody could quite believe that he'd never grow up. The Doctor   
could have replaced his underdeveloped organs, but that would   
have been needless. The boy's brain was underdeveloped as well,   
and this couldn't be replaced. Any operations would only have   
complicated his life and made it almost unbearable. So together   
with Tom and B'Elanna the Doctor had decided to let him enjoy his   
life as it was.  
This was what hurt so much. But at least Samuel could   
learn what it meant to being loved. Giving him all their love was   
the one thing that lay completely in his parents' hands, and they   
weren't going to not enjoy any second of it.  
B'Elanna had settled down on the couch, her legs drawn up   
to her chest, covered with her favorite quilt. One of her arms was   
resting on the edge of the crib her son was sleeping in. It once had   
been Naomi Wildman's crib. No one on Voyager would have   
thought that they'd need the most pleasant piece of furniture   
parents had to get so soon again. Until then, it had been packed   
away somewhere in Cargobay 2.  
  
  
Tom got themselves something to drink from the replicator   
and then joined his girlfriend on the couch. He handed her one of   
the mugs, then he sat in silence to watch over his son's slumber.   
Samuel was breathing regularly, his lungs weren't that   
underdeveloped. *You mustn't think of that,* he scolded himself.   
*Think about how beautiful he is, how perfect.*  
"Tom?"  
"Hm," he murmured absentmindedly.  
  
"I was wondering if we will be able to love a child that   
much as we love him," B'Elanna said.  
"I don't know. I think so," Tom shrugged.  
B'Elanna sighed. "I'm not sure. I mean ... I don't know if I   
could go through losing another child again."  
He was silent. Then he mused: "But another child would be   
created, nurtured and given birth to out of love, you know. Besides,   
we owe him that his siblings remember him as the bravest and   
strongest boy who ever lived on Voyager. The Doctor said he'd live   
longer, after all, if only for one day."  
B'Elanna smiled through the hated veil of tears that once   
again blurred her vision. "If you say so. You know what?" she   
asked, smiling. She shifted her arm from the edge of the crib to   
resting on Tom's chest. "You know about the weak spots of   
Klingons so damn well, and you're the cutest father I've ever seen."  
"B'Ela ...""Shh," the half-Klingon woman quieted her lover by   
covering his lips with her fingers. "If you're ready to go through it   
again, so am I. I don't trust anyone more than the man I love."  
  
  
Tom swallowed hard. It still was a miracle for him what he   
had done that he deserved being happy, or being in love with   
B'Elanna. But whatever he'd done, he swore to himself that he'd   
keep doing it. And he had promised to the Captain that he'd never   
stop loving B'Elanna, come what might—that he'd promised that   
under the influence of a mind-controlling device didn't make any   
difference. He'd loved her as Bobby Davies, and he still loved her   
as Tom Paris. Love would always be love, and there was no greater   
law for man—or so Chaucer had claimed, if he remembered his   
literature classes correctly.  
  
"... Breathless and transfixed the Mole stopped rowing as   
the liquid run of that glad piping broke on him like a wave, caught   
him up, and possessed him utterly. He saw the tears on his   
comrade's cheeks, and bowed his head and understood. For a space   
..." Naomi read in her clear child's voice. Kathryn had until then   
listened intently to the story, had seen the Mole and the Rat row   
their little boat down the River in search for Portly. She loved this   
chapter of *The Wind in the Willows*, although literary criticism   
wasn't sure if children understood the mystical experience the   
animals made in it. *He saw the tears on his comrade's cheeks,   
and bowed his head and understood.*  
  
The sentence touched something deep within her, and she sensed rather than realized that the Mole should be wearing a tattoo   
on his left temple. This simple sentence, written centuries ago,   
summed up all what there was between her and her First Officer.   
Chakotay always bowed his head and understood, but he never   
dared cross the barrier and make her stop crying. But it was her   
own fault. She wouldn't let him. Again she wondered why it was so   
hard for her to let him into her life. One of her safety nets was   
already gone, and the other one was starting to get holes as well.   
What if she kept pushing him away, would he be there to catch her   
when her other net broke as well?  
Kathryn wasn't sure. What kind of thoughts were these, by   
the way? A Captain didn't need a safety net, it was too dangerous.   
So better erect a wall around oneself, stone was more durable than   
thread, and there were no holes through which bits of her self could   
escape and indulge in thoughts like these.  
Naomi had of course not noticed her listener's thoughts   
steal away on the floating music of the story, so immersed was she   
in her reading. So she didn't even notice the holographic Doctor   
materialize next to her. He sat his old-fashioned black doctor's bag   
on the edge of the biobed she was occupying. When she stopped to   
clear her throat that had gone dry from reading out loud for so   
long, she noticed him. And blushed a deep crimson.  
The Doctor put a calming hand on her thin shoulder.   
Kathryn smiled and was about to open her mouth to say something,   
but the Doctor forestalled her. "Thank you, Miss Wildman. You   
did a very good job," he praised Naomi. The girl only blushed   
deeper, beaming at the same time with pride. She was so glad that   
she could be of help to all those awfully busy grownups, but what   
was even more, she now had the certainty that she hadn't   
misbehaved on the Holodeck.  
"Doctor?" Kathryn asked curiously. She wanted some   
answers, now.  
"I've asked Naomi to look after you while I was on a   
house-call," he explained. "She was with you most of the time, you   
were babysitting each other so to say."  
  
Kathryn nodded, uncertain of what the Doctor was trying   
to tell her—or rather avoiding to tell her. "What does that mean?"   
she demanded to know, her voice dangerously calm.  
"Well, that means that we have eventually succeeded in   
getting rid of the Hirogen," the Doctor said casually, fiddling open   
his bag. He produced his tricorder and began to scan Kathryn with   
it. Nothing was more unnerving to Kathryn than the Doctor's   
scanning her with the tricorder when she wanted answers.   
Especially in a situation like this, when her crew were held   
prisoner on their own ship, and treated like toys. She drew in a   
sharp breath, she didn't want to explode in front of the girl.  
"Commander Chakotay has scheduled a staff meeting for   
this afternoon, he'll explain everything to you then," the hologram   
informed her. "But until then, you stay here with me. I've yet got to   
finish your treatment and declare you fit for duty."  
Kathryn looked daggers at the hologram. There were only two people aboard this ship whose behavior of that kind she   
tolerated—but only because she had no other choice—, the   
Doctor's and Seven's. With them, resistance was often futile, and   
Kathryn had had time enough to realize when this was the case. It   
was the best thing she could do with a hologram that had an   
attitude and a very pronounced ego, and with a spoiled six-year-old   
ex-Borg in the body of a playmate-of-the month.  
Kathryn decided to change tactics. If he didn't want to tell   
her about how they'd finally broken free from the control of the   
Hirogen, she at least wanted to know what was going on now.   
"So," she began in a casual tone, "you made a house-call?"  
"Yes," the Doctor replied cryptically. He shut his tricorder.   
"Please lie down, Captain. Naomi, would you please leave us alone   
for a moment?" The girl nodded, hopped off the bed, grabbed her   
padd and withdrew into the Doctor's office.  
The Doctor removed the compress from Kathryn's thigh, and examined the healed wound. There wasn't even a hint of a scar left on her pale skin. While he was running another scan, he   
explained: "Captain, I visited Lieutenants Torres and Paris, and ..."   
The Doctor interrupted himself. How should he tell the Captain   
about her new godson, and that he was dying?  
"And? Doctor, please!" Kathryn said impatiently. She lay   
still on the bed, letting the Doctor treat hear, but she ached to know   
what he had to tell her. He obviously was having difficulties telling   
her, and she wondered what it could be. She just hoped that neither   
B'Elanna nor Tom were in danger. If the Doctor had to visit them   
... she didn't dare go on thinking. She didn't want to lose either of   
them.  
"I looked after their son. He is critically ill. He won't   
survive the month, I'm afraid."  
Kathryn didn't know what to say or think. "They have a   
son?" she eventually managed.  
The Doctor sighed, put down his instruments and told her   
the whole story.  
  
Kathryn insisted that Tom and B'Elanna stay with Samuel, she almost had to order them to stay with him instead of attending   
the staff meeting. Just for once, she let them disobey her orders.   
Frankly, she wanted them to attend the meeting, too, she wanted to   
have her closest crew around her when she learned about what had   
happened since the explosion on the Holodeck. But she didn't have   
the heart to separate them from Samuel, either. The two of them   
convinced her that this was okay; they wanted to be there when the   
story of their struggle was told. And there were enough crew who   
literally fought over babysitting Samuel. Since the little boy was   
doing so well, better than expected, his parents insisted on   
attending the meeting.  
"It's good to have you back, Captain," Harry offered, after   
he'd entered the conference room. The relief on his face was barely   
to be missed, and a grateful smile tugged at Kathryn's lips. She also   
noticed that it was all the young Asian could do to hug her.   
"Thank you, Harry," she smiled at him. From the corner of   
her eyes she saw Chakotay's gaze resting on her. Somehow she felt guilty.   
  
Who was she to deny him his happiness? She exchanged   
quick glances with him, and she clearly saw the question in his   
eyes, the question that would steal into her conscious whenever she   
didn't keep her mind occupied. Otherwise, Chakotay kept his face   
perfectly straight, as it became a First Officer. The conference   
room wasn't the proper place to discuss such a personal thing.  
"Well, let's get started," Kathryn said, gesturing for them to   
sit and report as they usually would.  
But this time, they couldn't follow protocol. Their tasks   
had been different from their usual tasks this time, and so they had   
to tell rather than report to their Captain what had happened. After   
the Hirogen had been sent to sleep with the help of the Borg   
nanoprobes, they had been held hostage in the cargobay, so that the   
Hirogen ships escorting Voyager couldn't do anything to free their   
people. Chakotay and Tuvok had continued their negotiations with   
the Hirogen medic Ysakc S'huna; later the Alpha Hirogen, Kaar   
Eleng, had joined them. He had Ysakc inform Chakotay and Tuvok   
that he wasn't quite satisfied with the way his medic stood in for   
him, and that he'd appreciate it very much if he could join them.  
"And how did it go from then?" Kathryn wanted to know   
when Tuvok paused in his report.  
"Better, actually," Chakotay said. "Kaar cared to explain   
himself to us. He is one of the very few Hirogen who has realized   
that his people can't go on like this, roving through the sector   
looking for prey. Maybe we should listen to his speech, we both   
found it quite impressive. Maybe it'll help explain our decision."   
The Dorvanian exchanged glances with the Vulcan, and much to   
the others' surprise, there was something like silent communication   
between them, an understanding that hadn't been there before;   
before the two men had been enemies, even more so when   
Chakotay found that there had been yet another traitor among his   
cell—but this traitor wasn't the last to be discovered. Tuvok   
nodded in agreement, stood and activated the screen of the   
conference room.   
  
  
The armadillo face of the Alpha Hirogen appeared on the   
screen. A nasty scar went from the equivalent of his left eyebrow   
down across his cheek in a perfectly vertical line. The Hirogen was   
clad in medieval clothes rather than the shiny obsidian-colored   
armour.   
"We've lost our way. We've allowed our predatory instincts   
to dominate us. We've dispersed ourselves throughout the quadrant,   
sending ships in all directions. We've become a solitary race,   
isolated. We've lost our culture in the pursuit of what we must do.   
But I've realized that we can't go on like this. We'll die if we don't   
allow ourselves to develop. One day, there won't be any prey left   
for us to hunt, or we'll meet more ships with such a brave and   
determined crew like yours. I've realized that we must find a cure   
for our addiction, out of our own will and power. Only then we can   
come together again and reunite our people. We will be able to live   
on our homeworld as the peaceful people we've once been—the   
Hirogen, Those-Who-Hunt-for-Their-Needs. Thanks to you my   
crew have realized this—except for Sarpa Tarench—and they are   
now ready to pursue a new way."  
The recording ended here, and for a while, everyone was   
silent. "That sounds rather impressive, Commander," Kathryn   
eventually said. "But in what way did it influence the negotiation?"  
"They couldn't compensate for the psychical damage   
they've done, but they left us enough supplies to repair the damage,   
and they left the additional power sources they'd had Engineering   
to install so the function of the Holodecks could be enhanced.   
They've provided us with a mark on the hull so we don't be   
bothered by other Hirogen. And they've assured us of their eternal   
gratefulness," Chakotay summarized.  
"I hate people who are condescending when they   
apologize," Kathryn commented. "Their eternal gratefulness   
doesn't help little Samuel one bit, or all the others, for that matter,"   
she added bitterly.  
Silence spread in the room once more. "You sound pretty   
disappointed, Captain," Tom eventually said.  
Kathryn looked at her pilot askance. How could he say this   
when he and B'Elanna were the two who were suffering most from   
the cruelty of the Hirogen? "I don't feel like dancing an Irish jig   
right now," she explained.  
"I think the Hirogen have in fact given more to us than   
they've taken," Tom said, bending over the table to be closer to the   
Captain. *Why wouldn't she see the good in it?* he asked himself.   
"Look, you were in a coma, so you haven't noticed yet, but the   
crew has grown closer in the past three and a half weeks. We are   
family now, more than we've been before. God knows we're   
hurting, but what we've gained is more than what we've lost."  
Kathryn shook her head. "No!" she almost exclaimed.   
"What about the casualties? Three people dead, and your son   
dying! We were raped, both mentally and physically, and ..."  
"Yes." Seven chimed in. She had been silent so far. "That   
is correct. But I have to agree when Lieutenant Paris says that our   
... community has grown stronger."  
  
Kathryn looked at the blonde woman in disbelief. She was   
used to being second-guessed by her, but she'd never had even   
thought this possible. If the Doctor ... *Yes, you could be sure he'd   
have his own two cents to add,* she thought bitterly when the   
Doctor opened his mouth to speak.  
"As far as I've been told, the crew from the Holodecks only   
remember the events in Sainte Claire and Acre, which hardly were   
traumatizing. The Klingon simulation had been turned off by Kaar   
himself, since it wasn't his interest any longer that his people hunt   
ours down," he explained. "You don't have any memories of the   
previous scenarios. You only remember the last ones because the   
nanoprobes deactivated the neural interfaces, and with them the   
circumvention of your memory centers. Your memories shouldn't   
be too bad. Or am I mistaken there?" Now it was him who looked   
daggers at Kathryn.  
Chakotay saw Kathryn set her jaw, saw the muscles ripple   
under her skin. *What the heck,* he thought, and did something no   
one would have expected him to do, at least not in public. He   
reached for Kathryn's hands; she'd entwined her fingers with each   
other with such a strength that her knuckles had gone white. He   
was able to cover her hands with his right hand, and he gave them   
a gentle squeeze. Chakotay knew of course exactly what the   
Doctor was referring to, as were all the others. None of them had   
forgotten about the relationship the Captain and the Commander   
had shared on the Holodeck.  
"He's right, Kathryn," he merely said. "All of them are   
right. We've gained more than we've lost, despite the dead. Why   
won't you realize that?"  
The last time Kathryn had felt that left alone had been   
when she'd decided to be allies with the Borg against Species 8472;   
when even Tuvok had turned his back on her to get the mysterious   
Sikarian transporter.  
When her people had made her meet Captain Miller. That   
had been the last time they'd left her all alone. She looked at each   
then, letting her gaze wander from face to face, her eyes full of venom. How dare they do that to her? How dare they? Her   
personal life was none of their business. But they all met her gaze   
without flinching. Lastly, her gaze met Chakotay's, who was as   
determined as the others. He didn't even remove his damn hand   
from hers. She felt their warmth almost scorch her hands that   
suddenly were ice-cold.   
*He saw the tears on his comrade's cheeks, and bowed his   
head and understood.*  
She wouldn't let any of them see the tears on her cheeks.   
And no way Chakotay understood her right now.   
*... doing whatever he could to make her burden lighter.*   
No way Chakotay made her burden lighter right now. How dare he   
treat her like this in front of the whole crew?  
She closed her eyes, feeling the tears escape from beneath   
her lashes. "Leave me, all, go, leave me alone," she said almost   
tunelessly.   
  
To be continued ... 


	16. Faces amid the Stars

Chapter 16 Faces amid the Stars

There was this face amid the stars, the face of a man who was older and more vulnerable than he looked. The face belonged to the con-man of Voyager. He of all people should have known how easily and just as quickly life could be changed,either by his own will and hand, or by the hands of someone or something who had more influence in one particular moment than he.  
One day he'd been happily in love,the next day his life had lain shattered in front of him,  
every shard bearing the image of the life he'd lived and would have lived. Life had been like a jigsaw then,  
or rather like a mosaic from antiquity.

What once had been a colorful life was now broken, and no matter how hard he tried to put it back together, his grief was stronger.

One day he was a convict of Federation Penal Colony on New Zealand, the next day he was the con-officer of Starfleet's newest vessel. From then on it had taken him four years of making friends, finding back to his former self with the help of those friends. He'd fallen in love with one of them, and just when he'd thought that everything was just perfect someone with more influence had decided that his life needed changing again.

But this someone wasn't having any influence anymore, he'd gotten it back. Now it was up to him to decide which way to go. Self-pity was very convenient because one could make it responsible for the mistakes one made under its cloak.  
Alcohol was self-pity's best friend, Tom knew that just too well. You could be made responsible for sinking into self-pity,  
but if under the influence of alcohol, you had the best excuse for your behavior. This was also something which Tom knew only too well, and thus knew to be a vicious circle.

The day Kathryn Janeway had given him a second chance he'd sworn to himself to never make this mistake again. It was hard, but it could be done. There was his family and friends, they'd given him a second chance, and he wasn't going to let them down now. Resisting temptation was never easy, most often futile, but the shame of disappointing friends was harder to bear with than giving in. Tom knew he'd never be able to forgive himself for disappointing the people who trusted him.

Tom couldn't imagine a strong woman like Kathryn Janeway sinking into self-pity, particularly when he was strong enough to accept the fact that his new son was dying.

He could understand her, though, but only to a certain degree. This made it easier for him as well as it complicated things.

There was grief in the eyes of the face amid the stars, and a conspicuous sparkle. Even on the background of the never-ending midnight out there his paleness could be seen. His lips had turned into two thin lines,their rosy color drained because he had pressed them together too tightly.

A second face appeared next to the one amid the stars, and Tom turned to look at B'Elanna who'd joined at the viewport. Except for her determinedly set chin, there was the same expression on her face as on his. Tom knew that B'Elanna would do anything in her power to save their boy,hence the determination. But both of them knew that there was no power in this universe big enough to cure a baby whose brain was underdeveloped.

Their only hope was that little Samuel didn't have to suffer too much, and they were happy and grateful for each single day they were given to enjoy the life of their son."Hey," Tom said softly when he noticed a tiny tear rolling down B'Elanna's cheek. He wasn't sure anymore if she'd accepted the inevitability of Samuel's death. He knew her well enough to know that she hadn't given up hope yet. She was clinging to it. It kept her sane. He kept her sane, as she kept him sane.

After Odile's death Tom hadn't thought to ever share that strong a bond with a woman again, but there she was. B'Elanna had a heart of gold beneath her rough shell, and it was his task to keep it from breaking. Sure, Samuel hadn't been created out of love, but that was no excuse not to love him. The fact that his brain was underdeveloped didn't mean he didn't have a soul.  
Tom wrapped his arms around B'Elanna and pulled her towards him. She accepted his offer of silent comfort and let herself go in his arms. B'Elanna couldn't cry, despite the stray tear Tom had wiped away. This didn't mean, though, that she didn't need the haven of her lover's arms,  
she needed it more than anything, more than she wanted to admit.

Tom deeply inhaled the scent of her hair and kissed her part.  
"What have you been thinking about?" she wanted to know."I was wondering how easy it is to wallow in self-pity," he said. B'Elanna didn't reply anything, she just waited patiently for her lover to go on. Patience had never been a forte of hers, but despite everything she was filled with a calm she'd never known before. From this calm she derived the strength she needed for her patience. She wasn't at peace, she didn't know the source of her calm. But she didn't question it, for she was grateful to be endowed with it when she needed it most.

Eventually, Tom continued his musing. "Wallowing in self-pity is easy and convenient. Janeway has never been the type to choose the easy and convenient way"  
"I think I know what you're getting at," B'Elanna nodded. "What's happened isn't her fault, she knows that as well as anyone else, and yet she blames it on herself."

Tom nodded. "She's done that before. She's been faced with her own personal Kobayashi Maru more often than she's deserved. I don't think that the problem now is about having lost control."

Slowly it began to dawn on B'Elanna. "You think she uses having lost control as an excuse," she concluded."The question is ..." Tom's voice trailed off. "Why," B'Elanna finished the sentence for him. "The reason is Chakotay."

Tom smiled then, for the first time this fight. "I was hoping you'd say that. You know Chakotay better than I. It's all about Catherine and Frank now. Doc told us that there've obviously been more simulations than we would want to know. Somehow I have the suspicion that Janeway and Chakotay have been lovers in more simulations than just Sainte Claire."

"That's what's giving her a headache," B'Elanna agreed. "But this is something with which she'll have to cope on her own.""On the contrary," Tom protested. He let go of his girlfriend, something that made B'Elanna's mind go to red alert.

"What are you up to?""Living up to my promise," he answered secretively.

"What's that supposed to mean?" B'Elanna asked emphatically. It never bore any good when Tom got that cryptical. But for once, he cared to fill her in on his plan. Gently scooping up Samuel along with his quilt in his arms, he explained to the half-Human woman: "Back in Sainte Claire Miller asked me to take good care of Catherine. It's been because of my carelessness that Janeway has suffered those severe injuries. I won't let happen that again.  
"Tom!" B'Elanna called after him. "That's been on the Holodeck!"

Tom turned around. "We may have been being brainwashed, but the Hirogen were never able to control our feelings and emotions. Nobody can but we." With that he left with his son his arms.

B'Elanna shrugged and sighed. This was one thing among many for which she loved him. He was having a point, but she doubted that Janeway would see it, too. Sometimes she was so damn pigheaded. B'Elanna went into the bathroom and looked for Tom's toothbrush. Somehow she had the strong feeling that he'd need it in the near future.

There was a face amid the stars, the face of a woman who was torn between love and duty.  
It was the classic dilemma, had always been since woman had broken free from the confines of her home. If she allowed herself the luxury of the relationship with her First Officer, command would certainly suffer from it. She doubted that she could send Chakotay to death if necessary. Choosing his wellbeing above one of her other crew was out of the question.

If she didn't allow herself this luxury, she would break apart one day, she knew that.  
No matter how often she told herself that having Chakotay as a friend was enough for her, she was well aware somewhere deep within her that she was kidding herself. All in all, it was a vicious circle,and all she could do was keeping him at arm's length.

The result of it was, that, if she felt confident and safe enough to let him closer to her, she knew that it was how it was supposed to be. But then something or someone made her realize that it wouldn't work, and she'd push him away again, a ritual that became ever more painful for both of them.

Kathryn needed to break free from this circle, that much she knew. There had to be some way to make it work, others had done it before, it wasn't as if this case wasn't unprecedented.  
The question was if Chakotay was still willing to be by her side as a lover. There had been so many ugly arguments between them, and she knew that he'd suffered and withdrawn himself from her bit by bit. Kathryn had suffered then, by God, she had really suffered, but she'd never been one to speak her mind—at least not with anyone but him. And just two days before she had probably put the tin lid on it.

She tore her eyes from the face amid the stars, a face that looked so sad and sorry, so full of repulsion of what she'd done. In short, she felt sorry for herself, and very desperate.  
She uncurled the fingers of her fist and looked at the little treasure that revealed itself on her palm. It was Catherine's wedding-ring. She hadn't noticed she'd still been wearing it until it had slipped off her finger while taking a soak. Kathryn wondered again who it had been that had left the ring on her finger.

Who am I kidding? she thought angrily. It must have been Chakotay. After all, he, too,  
had still been wearing Maurice's ring at the briefing. And he had caressed hers—Catherine's—at the briefing when he'd tried to comfort her in front of all the others.

What am I to do? Kathryn asked herself. She didn't quite know if she should consider the rings as the Leroux', or as her and Chakotay's.

She raised her head again to look at her reflection amid the stars. Of course she didn't expect to get an answer from them, but sometimes it felt comfortable and inspiring to look at oneself. Kathryn curled her fingers around the ring again and let her fist rest on the back of her sofa.

Just then the chime rang. Grateful for the distraction she asked the guest to enter.  
Maybe she just needed to get some distraction to find a solution to her problem. She could of course just go next door and talk to Chakotay, but as simple as the idea seemed—it was the most difficult task Kathryn Janeway could think of at the moment. "Come in."

The doors swished open and let Tom Paris in. He was carrying a colorful bundle, so he'd brought his new son with him. Voyager's pilot smiled at her, and sat on the proffered spot next to her on the couch.

"How are you, Kathryn?" He'd particularly emphasized her first name, and Kathryn felt anger welling up in her at this. She didn't remember ever granting him the liberty as to address her by anything other than Captain or Ma'am—and even the latter only during crunch-time. But before she could rebuff him, he held up his free hand in a pacifying gesture.  
"I'm here as a friend, not as an officer."

Now it dawned on her. She had granted him the liberty to address her by her first name,  
years ago, when he'd been a boy of fifteen years. Uncomfortable, Kathryn shifted her position on the sofa. Why did she feel uncomfortable in her own quarters all of a sudden? It wasn't her quarters. It was Tom's presence, his presence as a friend.

"I'm fine," she eventually replied, her tone indicating, though, that she wasn't.  
Kathryn hoped that Tom would buy it, but frankly, she hadn't sounded convincing enough, even for her own taste. Tom didn't buy it. He reached for her hand resting on the back rest of the sofa, right next to the mug of cold coffee. He held her by the wrist, gently prying her fist open with a demanding stroke of his thumb. Her fingers uncurled and revealed a simple golden ring.

"Why do you say that? You don't even believe it yourself," Tom said, cupping her open hand with his palm. The revelation of the ring had told him more than a thousand words. "I don't think that's any of your business, Mr Paris," Kathryn replied sharply, and wanted to free herself from his grip. The ring went flying through the air, landing with a soft sound on the carpet.

"On the contrary, Kathryn," Tom insisted. He knew he was pushing it, but if it was the only way to get to her he was willing to use whatever means necessary. He owed her, after all, and he had yet to live up to a promise. He told her that.

Kathryn hesitated. "I can't remember such a promise."Tom sighed. Just then, the bundle he'd been holding for the whole time began to stir. Samuel, who had been sleeping peacefully until now, demanded something to eat, and he didn't tolerate any delay. "Here, will you hold him for a minute? I forgot to bring his bottle."

Before Kathryn had a chance to realize what was happening, she was holding the thrashing boy in her arms, and Tom had disappeared. "Hey!" she called after him, but it was too late.  
Somewhat helpless, she looked at Samuel. He was her godson, and it was only then that she realized that she hadn't even held him yet. Why she didn't know. It was unbelievable that he looked so perfect. It was also unbelievable how natural holding him felt. Kathryn had always been a little bit afraid of holding a baby, she didn't want to hurt them, they seemed so fragile.  
But when Tom had handed Samuel over to her, it was as though she'd never known this fear.

Samuel was hungry, and he did his best to remind Kathryn of that. Regardless of how often she managed to get the pacifier back into his pouting mouth, he'd always suckle for several seconds, and noticing that there wasn't any food, he'd spit it out again. When he turned his head at Kathryn's breast to see if there was some food there, it almost broke her heart. "I don't have anything for you, little one," she murmured, wincing at the boy's desperate crying. "Your Daddy's getting you some food."

Why hadn't he just replicated a bottle for his son, she wondered. Again, she nuzzled the pacifier back into his mouth. At the same time, she tried to calm him by gently rocking him back and forth, but it was no use. Samuel was crying at the top his lungs.

Finally, Tom returned with a bottle in hand. "Sorry," he said, kneeling in front of the sofa. He touched Samuel's mouth with the top of the nipple. Once the little one recognized the scent of his food, he began to suckle hungrily.

"Here," Tom said, letting go of the bottle, "you feed him." Again, Kathryn accepted without thinking. The quiet that had suddenly settled in the room was heaven. Fascinated, she watched Samuel drink. "Why didn't you just replicate a bottle?" she asked Tom.

"Nothing's better than mother's milk," he simply said. He sat on the sofa, watching Kathryn bottle feeding his son. It had been a long time since he'd last seen her that content.  
The last time he'd seen her like this had been in the hall of the Cœur de Lion, when she'd kissed Miller good-bye.

"Why didn't you take him back to B'Elanna?" "She needs some rest. As do you," he added.  
"Ah, and the best way to make me rest is to let me try to calm a hopelessly hungry baby?" she asked, a crooked grin tugging at the left corner of her mouth.

Tom grinned at her. "Yes. I haven't seen you smile in a long time." Kathryn's smile abated. She realized that she'd fallen into Tom's trap. The end of this little adventure with her godson had been to distract her from her brooding, and it had worked. For once, she had been able to think about something else than her own problems. "You ...," she began, but stopped herself short. "Thank you."

Tom nodded. "You know, back in Sainte Claire, Miller asked me to take good care of you"  
Kathryn inhaled deeply. After all, she wouldn't get any rest. Tom could thank his lucky stars that she was holding Samuel, or else she would have ... well, never mind. His plan was working a little bit too well. "We weren't quite ourselves back on the Holodeck," she reminded her pilot calmly.

"That's what B'Elanna's told me, too. But we can't deny what's happened on the Holodeck"  
Tom explained. He smoothed the quilt in which Samuel was wrapped. Kathryn simply had to realize that she was holding the best reason for his point in her arms—and the other one deep in heart.  
It was his plan to make her accept the latter as she had her godson.

"The Hirogen have brainwashed us," Kathryn insisted. "Yes, but it means brainwashed,  
and not soul-  
washed," Tom countered. "Tom," Kathryn began, "what's happened between me and the Commander on the Holodeck is none of your business."

"I don't think so. This is affecting your command relationship, which is—if I recall correctly—ship's business and thus my business as well," he argued. "I haven't seen you as happy as you were in Sainte Claire since you've been together with Justin Tighe."

If it hadn't been for Samuel, Kathryn would have spaced Tom right then and there. "How dare you," she whispered dangerously.The worst thing was that he was having a point, but that she wouldn't admit. This didn't mean, though, that he could take any liberty he needed to reach his goal. Reminding her of Justin was such a liberty.

"I'm your friend, Kathryn,"—again he insisted on using her first name—"and as such I've got to take care of you, even if you hate it. But I owe you, and I've promised Chakotay. You can't deny what has happened."Kathryn knew very well that he was right, but still ... It seemed so difficult, and the doubt whether Chakotay would accept her apology was keeping her from going to him. "I ... thank you for your help, Tom. But I'd rather be alone right now, if you don't mind."

There. She was doing it again, withdrawing when it came to facing her feelings for Chakotay. Kathryn really appreciated Tom's help, but she was at a point now where she couldn't turn around and go back, where she just had to keep going. The route needed careful consideration.

"You sure?" Tom secured himself. He accepted Samuel when Kathryn carefully handed him back to him. The little boy had fallen asleep again, replete, content and secure as a child his age could be. Kathryn adjusted the quilt around his head, she didn't want him to catch a cold.

Kathryn looked up at Tom. He recognized something in her eyes that hadn't been there when he'd come. Although he couldn't quite put his finger on it, he was sure that it was something good. She of all people deserved some happiness, or at least the comfort of a friend.  
"Thank you, Tom."

Tom nodded and rose. "Good night, then, Kathryn." Kathryn smiled at him. For the first time this evening she felt his calling her by her first name the right thing to do. It felt good.  
After the doors had closed behind father and son, she asked herself if after all she was really that alone.

Kathryn's heart sank when the door finally slid open. She'd had to ring the chime four times before Chakotay answered her calls. It had already seemed wrong to her at the first push of the button. But there was no way back now. The doors opened and revealed the relative darkness of quarters with viewports. No matter if the lights were reduced to zero percent, the rooms were always illuminated by the stars outside. It was a gentle, if cold illumination, a constant reminder of the long distance from home.

Chakotay was standing next to the door, he'd had to key in the codes to open the door for her. His hair was tousled, his T-shirt and boxers creased, and his eyes still puffy from sleep. A totally washed-out appearance that was totally cute. How could one resist such a man?

"Kathryn?" Chakotay asked drowsily. Kathryn had to clear her throat before her vocal cords would work. Something which annoyed her, always had. "May I come in?" Chakotay stepped aside and let her in. He was waking up by the second. "What can I do for you, Kathryn?" He gestured for her to sit in one of the chairs by the coffee table. "Can I get you something to drink? Some coffee?"

"No, thanks. That would make things worse, I can't get any sleep," she smiled nervously.  
Chakotay nodded and sat in the chair beside her. "So what can I do to drive your insomnia away"  
Kathryn inhaled deeply. This was the most difficult part. It was even all the more difficult since Chakotay chose to be the perfect gentleman. Notwithstanding how often she pushed him away,  
he'd always be gentle and caring. This was handy, but annoying at the same time. She'd rather he'd gotten really angry at her for once. That would make things a lot easier. "Aren't you angry at me at all?"

"Pardon?" Chakotay asked perplexed. "I keep pushing you away, I take but I don't give,  
I ..." she began to list. Chakotay interrupted her. "You don't take without giving. In fact, it's the other way round."

"What?" Now it was Kathryn who was taken aback. "Accept this for everything you've given to me, and to the crew," he said, rose, bent over her and gently brushed his lips over hers. The kiss lasted for mere seconds only, and when it was over, Chakotay didn't sit back in his chair.

Instead, he crouched in front of her. "A good-night kiss. Has it driven your insomnia away?"

The tears she'd been holding back for two days now threatened to finally get the better of her. She'd been on the verge of tears in the conference room, but she hadn't allowed more than two or three to escape from beneath her lashes. "I don't ..."

"Sh, Kathryn," Chakotay shushed her. "It's okay. I know it's not easy for you." "You have no idea how hard is," Kathryn burst. "Always being the one who is in control, who has responsibility,  
is so hard without ... Even I need someone with whom I can be just myself."

Chakotay sighed. What had happened that Kathryn had finally admitted this? He could very well imagine how difficult this was for her. But she'd taken the first step when she'd told him that Mark had let her go and married another woman. This had already been hard for her, and he had been happy to help her then, even when she'd pushed him away again. Truth be told, he'd thought of letting her go several times, but he'd never been able to summon the courage necessary for that.

At the same time he'd let her go, he'd let something of himself go. His father had always told him that loving someone also entailed letting go. In his heart Chakotay knew that Kolopak had been right, but it was also his heart that kept believing in Kathryn and that one day she'd let him into her life.

"I've pushed you away for four years now, but I can't do that any longer. Not after what has happened on the ... in Sainte Claire," Kathryn said. Why talk so much when actually only few words were necessary.Chakotay realized then what this was about, and his heart skipped a beat or two. But he needed her to speak it out loud, only in that way he could make sure that she had made peace within herself. He couldn't help taking her hands into his, though, as a means of encouragement. Besides, even he had to vent his feelings, particularly in situations like this.

"I've come ...," Kathryn hesitated to take a deep breath, "to apologize for any sorrow I've caused you. I'd like to give you this, and to ask you to accept it, with everything that is or might be entailed in it." Her voice had suddenly gone very soft. She reached for his hand and let something very warm glide from her hand into his.

When Chakotay opened his hand, he revealed Catherine's wedding ring. It was shiny and very warm from Kathryn's body heat. She must have been holding the ring for quite some time.  
He had prepared himself for many scenarios, but he'd never imagined a situation like this, only in his dreams.

With a nervous gesture Kathryn asked him to take a closer look at the ring. Askance,  
he picked it up and read what had been engraved on the inside of the ring: With all my love,  
Kathryn.

For several seconds Kathryn didn't know what to make of his expression. Disbelief was the most prominent one, pain, and uncertainty; but in the end it was love, deep and profound love.

It was even more, this man's love was unconditional, something which Kathryn had still to learn to accept, but very willing to learn. Eventually, he lifted his head to tear his eyes away from the words engraved into a ring made for eternity, and look into the eyes of the woman he loved. A smile she'd never seen before was gracing his face, carved those incredible dimples deeply into his cheeks, and made the corners of his eyes explode into a thousand tiny wrinkles.  
His eyes were sparkling with a warmth and love Kathryn had never seen before. She'd thought she knew his eyes, the most gentle ones she'd ever seen with a man, but now they showed her something that moved her deeply. How could she ever have doubted that they belonged together?

"Is this a proposal, Kathryn?" Chakotay eventually asked, now wide awake. He was holding the ring between his thumb and forefinger. Kathryn took the ring, reached for his hand and pushed it onto his ring finger. "Yes."

Chakotay swallowed. "Then I'll be more than happy to accept." Before either of them could think another straight thought, they were in each other's arms, holding them as tightly as they could.  
Both of them could feel the other tremble as they were overwhelmed by their emotions. After what seemed like an eternity, their lips met and they kissed with all they were worth, to make sure that this wasn't just a dream after all. They had kissed before, but then they hadn't been quite like themselves.

"I love you, Kathryn Janeway," Chakotay murmured again and again, not ever growing tired of the words he'd been holding back for so long. "I love you, too," Kathryn whispered.

Neither of them knew how or when they'd made it to his bed after that. They had to get to know each other again, discover the other's body again by touching, caressing, kissing and nuzzling. Although they knew how to spoil each other, their exploring was a new experience for them because now they were conscious of who they were, and whose body they were worshipping.

With the unique skill of lovers they managed to struggle free of their clothes and took in every detail of their bodies. Their forms, broad and well muscled and petite and seemingly fragile. The color of their hair, raven and chestnut. The color of their skin, tan and pale, caramel and vanilla cream. The texture of their skin, smooth and soft as a peach skin, goose-bumped from the whispers of their touches. Their breathing labored and hot on their skin,  
starving for kisses. Their bodies writhing beneath the delicacies of the other's assault.

Kathryn screamed and groaned out loud under the expert movements of her lover's tongue on her; she returned the pleasure immediately, eliciting moans and murmured words from Chakotay in a tongue she didn't understand. But as delicious as their caresses had been, they were craving for more. When Chakotay finally entered her, they were both swept away by the powerful surge of joy that surged through their bodies and by the flood of tears that mingled on their cheeks.

There were two faces among the stars, faces of lovers who had finally found to each other.  
Not the slightest trace of sorrow and pain was left in their faces. "I don't have a ring to offer "you," Chakotay whispered as they lay entangled in sheets and each other's exhausted limbs,  
savoring the peace of their joining.

Kathryn didn't stop trailing her fingertips across his chest. "You know, you still owe me that story." What did she need a ring for, now that they were having each other? Chakotay stopped drawing his fingers through her hair. "What story?" "The one about how you got your tattoo," Kathryn reminded him.

Chakotay sighed and remembered sharing the bed as Frank Miller with Catherine Leroux. Back in Sainte Claire, a single star had bathed them in the soft golden-red light of a late afternoon,now they were bathed in the cold light of a million stars, the time of day—or night—unimportant. The peace they'd felt then and were feeling now was the same, though."You want to hear the real thing or Frank Miller's story?"

"I'd like to listen to the longer one."Chakotay sighed, but he got the image. The longer telling the story took, the longer they'd share the bliss of the afterglow. After all,  
there was always tomorrow to deal with life and death and what damage the Hirogen had caused them.

Tonight, there were only the two of them, and nothing and nobody would disturb them in their insomnia. "You remember New Zealand—or Aotearoa, the Land of the Long White Cloud. Now imagine a bay, a sandy beach and the form of a man lying still on the shore, the surf washing over his bare feet ..." 


End file.
